THE   WINDS    OF   CHANCE 


PIERCE   AND  JOSEPHINE   TURN   AWAY,  HAND   IN   HAND,  THEIR    HEADS   CLOSE 

TOGETHER 


The 
Winds  of  Chance 

By  REX  BEACH 


AUTHOR  OF 

"Laughing  Bill  Hyde," 

"Rainbows  End," 
."Heart  of  the  Sunset,"  Etc. 


With  Frontispiece 
By  J.  HENRY 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 
Publishers  New  York 

Published  by  arrangement  with  HARPBR  &  BROTHERS 


THE  WINDS  OF  CHANCE 


Copyright,  1918,  by  Harper  &  Brothers 
Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


THE  WINDS  OF  CHANCE 


CHAPTER  I 

WITH  an  ostentatious  flourish  Mr.  "Lucky" 
Broad  placed  a  crisp  ten-dollar  bill  in  an 
eager  palm  outstretched  across  his  folding-table. 
''The  gentleman  wins  and  the  gambler  loses!" 
Mr.  Broad  proclaimed  to  the  world.  "The  eye 
is  quicker  than  the  hand,  and  the  dealer's  moans 
is  music  to  the  stranger's  ear."  With  practised 
touch  he  rearranged  the  three  worn  walnut-shells 
which  constituted  his  stock  in  trade.  Beneath 
one  of  them  he  deftly  concealed  a  pellet  about 
the  size  of  a  five-grain  allopathic  pill.  It  was  the 
erratic  behavior  of  this  tiny  ball,  its  mysterious 
comings  and  goings,  that  had  summoned  Mr. 
Broad's  audience  and  now  held  its  observant  in- 
terest. This  audience,  composed  of  roughly 
dressed  men,  listened  attentively  to  the  seductive 
monologue  which  accompanied  the  dealer's  deft 
manipulations,  and  was  greatly  entertained  there- 
by. "Three  tiny  tepees  in  a  row  and  a  little 
black  medicine-man  inside."  The  speaker's  voice 
was  high-pitched  and  it  carried  like  a  "thirty- 


182<1060 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

thirty."  "You  see  him  walk  in,  you  open  the 
door,  and — you  double  your  money.  Awfully 
simple!  Simpully  awful!  What?  As  I  live! 
The  gentleman  wins  ten  more — ten  silver-tongued 
song-birds,  ten  messengers  of  mirth — the  price  of 
a  hard  day's  toil.  Take  it,  sir,  and  may  it  make 
a  better  and  a  stronger  man  of  you.  Tunes  are 
good  and  I  spend  my  money  free.  I  made  it 
packin'  grub  to  Linderman,  four  bits  a  pound,  but 
— easy  come,  easy  go.  Now  then,  who's  next? 
You've  seen  me  work.  I  couldn't  baffle  a  sore- 
eyed  Siwash  with  snow-glasses." 

Lucky  Broad's  three-legged  table  stood  among 
some  stumps  beside  the  muddy  roadway  which 
did  service  as  the  mam  street  of  Dyea  and  along 
which  flowed  an  irregular  stream  of  pedestrians; 
incidental  to  his  practised  manipulation  of  the 
polished  walnut-shells  he  maintained  an  unceasing 
chatter  of  the  sort  above  set  down.  Now  his 
Toice  was  loud  and  challenging,  now  it  was  apolo- 
getic, always  it  stimulated  curiosity.  One  mo- 
ment he  was  jubilant  and  gay,  again  he  was 
contrite  and  querulous.  Occasionally  he  burst 
forth  into  plaintive  self-denunciations. 

Fixing  a  hypnotic  gaze  upon  a  bland,  blue- 
eyed  bystander  who  had  just  joined  the  charmed 
circle,  he  murmured,  invitingly:  "Better  try  your 
luck,  Olaf.  It's  Danish  dice — three  chances  to 
win  and  one  to  lose." 

The  obje«t  of  his  address  shook  his  head. 
"Aye  ant  Danish,  Aye  ban  Norvegen,"  said  he. 

"Danish  dice  or  Norwegian  poker,  they're  both 
2 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

the  same.  I'll  deal  you  a  free  hand  and  it  won't 
cost  you  a  cent.  Fix  your  baby  blues  on  the  lit- 
tle ball  and  watch  me  close.  Don't  let  me  de- 
ceive you.  Now  then,  which  hut  hides  the 
grain?" 

Noting  a  half-dozen  pairs  of  eyes  upon  him,  the 
Norseman  became  conscious  that  he  was  a  center 
of  interest.  He  grinned  half-heartedly  and,  after 
a  brief  hesitation,  thrust  forth  a  clumsy  paw, 
lifted  a  shell,  and  exposed  the  object  of  general 
curiosity. 

"You  guessed  it!"  There  was  commendation, 
there  was  pleased  surprise,  in  Mr.  Broad's  tone. 
"You  can't  fool  a  foreigner,  can  you,  boys?  My, 
my!  Ain't  it  lucky  for  me  that  we  played  for 
fun?  But  you  got  to  give  me  another  chance, 
Lars;  I'll  fool  you  yet.  In  walks  the  little  pill 
once  more,  I  make  the  magic  pass,  and  you  follow 
me  attentively,  knowing  in  your  heart  of  hearts 
that  I'm  a  slick  un.  Now  then,  shoot,  Kid;  you 
can't  miss  me!" 

The  onlookers  stirred  with  interest;  with  eager 
fingers  the  artless  Norwegian  fumbled  in  his 
pocket.  At  the  last  moment,  however,  he  thought 
better  of  his  impulse,  grunted  once,  then  turned 
his  back  to  the  table  and  walked  away. 

"Missed  him!"  murmured  the  dealer,  with  no 
display  of  feeling;  then  to  the  group  around  him 
he  announced,  shamelessly:  "You  got  to  lead 
those  birds;  they  fly  fast." 

One  of  Mr.  Broad's  boosters,  he  who  had  twice 

won  for  the  Norseman's  benefit,   carelessly  re- 

3 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

turned  his  winnings.  "Sure!"  he  agreed.  "They 
got  a  head  like  a  turtle,  them  Swedes." 

Mr.  Broad  carefully  smoothed  out  the  two  bills 
and  reverently  laid  them  to  rest  hi  his  bank-roll. 
"Yes,  and  they  got  bony  mouths.  You  got  to 
set  your  hook  or  it  won't  hold." 

"Slow  pickin's,"  yawned  an  honest  miner  with 
a  pack  upon  his  back.  Attracted  by  the  group  at 
the  table,  he  had  dropped  out  of  the  procession  hi 
the  street  and  had  paused  long  enough  to  win  a 
bet  or  two.  Now  he  straightened  himself  and 
stretched  his  arms.  "These  Michael  Strogoffs 
is  hep  to  the  old  stuff,  Lucky.  I'm  thinking  of 
joining  the  big  rush.  They  say  this  Klondike  is 
some  rich." 

Inasmuch  as  there  were  no  strangers  in  sight 
at  the  moment,  the  proprietor  of  the  deadfall 
gave  up  barking;  he  daintily  folded  and  tore  in 
half  a  cigarette  paper,  out  of  which  he  fashioned 
a  thin  smoke  for  himself.  It  was  that  well- 
earned  moment  of  repose,  that  welcome  recess 
from  the  day's  toil.  Mr.  Broad  inhaled  deeply, 
then  he  turned  his  eyes  upon  the  former  speaker. 

"You've  been  thinking  again,  have  you?"  He 
frowned  darkly.  With  a  note  of  warning  in  his 
voice  he  declared:  "You  ain't  strong  enough  for 
such  heavy  work,  Kid.  That's  why  I've  got  you 
packing  hay." 

The  object  of  this  sarcasm  hitched  his  shoulders 
and  the  movement  showed  that  his  burden  was 
indeed  no  more  than  a  cunning  counterfeit,  a 

bundle  of  hay  rolled  inside  a  tarpaulin. 

4 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Oh,  I  got  a  head  and  I've  been  doing  some 
heavy  thinking  with  it,"  the  Kid  retorted.  "This 
here  Dawson  is  going  to  be  a  good  town.  I'm  get- 
ting readied  up  to  join  the  parade." 

"Are  you,  now?"  the  shell-man  mocked.  "I 
s'pose  you  got  it  all  framed  with  the  Canucks 
to  let  you  through?  I  s'pose  the  chief  of  police 
knows  you  and  likes  you,  eh?  You  and  him  is 
cousins,  or  something?" 

"Coppers  is  all  alike;  there's  always  a  way  to 
square  'em — " 

"Lay  off  that  'squaring'  stuff,"  cautioned  a 
renegade  crook,  disguised  by  a  suit  of  mackinaws 
and  a  week's  growth  of  beard  into  the  likeness  of 
a  stampeder.  "A  thousand  bucks  and  a  ton  of 
grub,  that's  what  the  sign  says,  and  that's  what 
it  means.  They  wouldn't  let  you  over  the  Line 
with  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  fifty." 

"Right!"  agreed  a  third  capper.  "It's  a  closed 
season  on  broken  stiffs.  You  can't  monkey  with 
the  Mounted  Police.  When  they  put  over  an 
edict  it  lays  there  till  it  freezes.  They'll  make 
you  show  your  'openers'  at  the  Boundaiy.  Gee! 
If  I  had  'em  I  wouldn't  bother  to  go  'inside.' 
WTiat's  a  guy  want  with  more  than  a  thousand 
dollars  and  a  ton  of  grub,  anyhow?" 

"All  the  same,  I'm  about  set  to  hit  the  trail,'1 
stubbornly  maintained  the  man  with  the  alfalfa, 
pack.  "I  ain't  broke.  WTien  you  boys  get  to 
Dawson,  just  ask  for  Kid  Bridges'  saloon  and  I'll 
open  wine.  These  woollys  can  have  thei*  mines ; 

me  for  a  hootch-mill  on  Main  Street." 

5 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Lucky  addressed  his  bevy  of  boosters.  "Have 
I  nursed  a  serpent  in  my  breast,  or  has  the  Kid 
met  a  banker's  son?  Gimme  room,  boys.  I'm 
going  to  shuffle  the  shells  for  him  and  let  him 
double  his  money.  Keep  your  eye  on  the  magic 
pea,  Mr.  Bridges.  Three  tiny  tepees  hi  a  row — " 
There  was  a  general  laugh  as  Broad  began  to  shift 
the  walnut-shells,  but  Kid  Bridges  retorted, 
contemptuously : 

"  That's  the  trouble  with  all  you  wiseacres. 
You  get  a  dollar  ahead  and  you  fall  for  another 
man's  game.  I  never  knew  a  faro-dealer  that 
wouldn't  shoot  craps.  No,  I  haven't  met  no 
banker's  son  and  I  ain't  likely  to  in  this  place. 
These  pilgrims  have  sewed  their  money  in  their 
underclothes,  and  they  sleep  with  their  eyes  open. 
Seems  like  they'd  go  blind,  but  they  don't.  These 
ain't  Rubes,  Lucky;  they're  city  folks.  They've 
seen  three-ringed  circuses  and  three-shell  games, 
and  all  that  farmer  stuff.  They've  been  l  gypped/ 
and  it's  an  old  story  to  'em." 

"  You're  dead  right,"  Broad  acknowledged. 
"That's  why  it's  good.  D'you  know  the  best 
town  in  America  for  the  shells?  Little  old  New 
York.  If  the  cops  would  let  me  set  up  at  the 
corner  of  Broad  and  Wall,  I'd  own  the  Stock 
Exchange  in  a  week.  Madison  and  State  is  an- 
other good  stand;  so's  Market  and  Kearney,  or 
Pioneer  Square,  down  by  the  totem  pole.  New 
York,  Chicago,  'Frisco,  Seattle,  they're  all  hick 
towns.  For  every  city  guy  that's  been  stung  by 

a  bee  there's  a  hundred  that  still  thinks  honey 

6 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

comes  from  a  fruit.  This  rush  is  just  starting,  and 
the  bigger  it  grows  the  better  we'll  do.  Say, 
Kid,  if  you  mush  over  to  Tagish  with  that  load  of 
timothy  on  your  spine,  the  police  will  put  you  on 
the  wood-pile  for  the  winter." 

While  Mr.  Lucky  Broad  and  his  business  asso- 
ciates were  thus  busied  in  discussing  the  latest 
decree  of  the  Northwest  Mounted  Police,  other 
townsmen  of  theirs  were  similarly  engaged.  De- 
tails of  this  proclamation — the  most  arbitrary  of 
any,  hitherto — had  just  arrived  from  the  Inter- 
national Boundary,  and  had  caused  a  halt,  an 
eddy,  in  the  stream  of  gold-seekers  which  flowed 
inland  toward  the  Chilkoot  Pass.  A  human  tide 
was  setting  northward  from  the  States,  a  tide 
which  swelled  and  quickened  daily  as  the  news  of 
George  Carmack's  discovery  spread  across  the 
world,  but  at  Healy  &  Wilson's  log-store,  where 
the  notice  above  referred  to  had  been  posted,  the 
stream  slowed.  A  crowd  of  new-comers  from  the 
barges  and  steamers  in  the  roadstead  had  assem- 
bled there,  and  now  gave  voice  to  hoarse  indigna- 
tion and  bitter  resentment.  Late  arrivals  from 
Skagway,  farther  down  the  coast,  brought  word 
of  similar  scenes  at  that  point  and  a  similar 
f eeling  of  dismay ;  they  reported  a  similar  increase 
in  the  general  excitement,  too.  There,  as  here,  a 
tent  city  was  springing  up,  the  wooded  hills  were 
awakening  to  echoes  of  unaccustomed  life,  a  thrill 
and  a  stir  were  running  through  the  wilderness 
and  the  odor  of  spruce  fires  was  growing  heavier 
with  every  ship  that  came. 

7 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Pierce  Phillips  emerged  from  the  trading-post 
and,  drawn  by  the  force  of  gravitation,  joined  the 
largest  and  the  most  excited  group  of  Argonauts. 
He  was  still  somewhat  dazed  by  his  perusal  of 
that  Police  edict ;  the  blow  to  his  hopes  was  still 
too  stunning,  his  disappointment  was  still  too 
keen,  to  permit  of  clear  thought. 

"A  ton  of  provisions  and  a  thousand  dollars!" 
he  repeated,  blankly.  Why,  that  was  absurd,  out 
of  all  possible  reason!  It  would  bar  the  way  to 
fully  half  this  rushing  army;  it  would  turn  men 
back  at  the  very  threshold  of  the  golden  North. 
Nevertheless,  there  stood  the  notice  hi  black  and 
white,  a  clear  and  unequivocal  warning  from  the 
Canadian  authorities,  evidently  designed  to  fore- 
stall famine  on  the  foodless  Yukon.  From  the 
loud  arguments  round  about  him  Phillips  gath- 
ered that  opinion  on  the  justice  of  the  measure 
was  about  evenly  divided;  those  fortunate  men 
who  had  come  well  provided  commended  it  heart- 
ily, those  less  fortunate  fellows  who  were  sailing 
close-hauled  were  equally  noisy  in  their  denuncia- 
tion of  it.  The  latter  could  see  hi  this  precau- 
tionary ruling  nothing  except  the  exercise  of  a 
tyrannical  power  aimed  at  their  ruin,  and  in  con- 
sequence they  voiced  threats,  and  promises  of  vio- 
lence the  which  Phillips  put  down  as  mere  resent- 
ful mouthings  of  no  actual  significance.  As  for 
himself,  he  had  never  possessed  anything  like  a 
thousand  dollars  at  one  time,  therefore  the  prob- 
lem of  acquiring  such  a  prodigious  sum  in  the 
immediate  future  presented  appalling  difficulties. 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

He  had  come  north  to  get  rich,  only  to  find  that 
it  was  necessary  to  be  rich  in  order  to  get  north. 
A  fine  situation,  truly!  A  ton  of  provisions  would 
cost  at  least  five  hundred  dollars  and  the  expense 
of  transporting  it  across  summer  swamps  and 
tundras,  then  up  and  over  that  mysterious  and 
forbidding  Chilkoot  of  which  he  had  heard  so 
much,  would  bring  the  total  capital  required  up  to 
impossible  proportions.  The  prospect  was  indeed 
dismaying.  Phillips  had  been  ashore  less  than  an 
hour,  but  already  he  had  gained  some  faint  idea  of 
the  country  that  lay  ahead  of  him;  already  he  had 
noted  the  almost  absolute  lack  of  transportation; 
already  he  had  learned  the  price  of  packers,  and 
as  a  result  he  found  himself  at  an  impasse. 

One  thousand  dollars  and  two  hunolred  pounds ! 
It  was  enough  to  dash  high  hopes.  And  yet, 
strangely  enough,  Phillips  was  not  discouraged. 
He  was  rather  surprised  at  his  own  rebound  after 
the  first  shock;  his  reasonless  optimism  vaguely 
amazed  him,  until,  in  contemplating  the  matter, 
he  discovered  that  his  thoughts  were  running 
somewhat  after  this  fashion: 

"They  told  me  I  couldn't  make  it;  they  said 
something  was  sure  to  happen.  Well,  it  has.  I'm 
up  against  it — hard.  Most  fellows  would  quit  and 
go  home,  but  I  sha'n't.  I'm  going  to  win  out, 
somehow,  for  this  is  the  real  thing.  This  is  Life, 
Adventure.  It  will  be  wonderful  to  look  back  and 
say:  'I  did  it.  Nothing  stopped  me.  I  landed  at 
Dyea  with  one  hundred  and  thirty-five  dollars, 

but  look  at  me  now!"1 

9 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Thoughts  such  as  these  were  in  his  mind,  and 
theb*  resolute  nature  must  have  been  reflected 
in  his  face,  for  a  voice  aroused  him  from  his 
meditations. 

"It  don't  seem  to  faze  you  much,  partner.  I 
s'pose  you  came  heeled?"  Phillips  looked  up 
and  into  a  sullen,  angry  face. 

"It  nearly  kills  me,"  he  smiled.  "I'm  the 
worst-heeled  man  hi  the  crowd." 

"Well,  it's  a  darned  outrage.  A  ton  of  grub! 
Why,  have  you  seen  the  trail?  Take  a  look ;  it's 
a  man-killer,  and  the  rate  is  forty  cents  a  pound 
to  Linderman.  It  '11  go  to  fifty  now — maybe  a 
dollar — and  there  aren't  enough  packers  to  handle 
half  the  stuff." 

"Things  are  worse  at  Skagway,"  another  man 
volunteered.  "I  came  up  yesterday,  and  they're 
losing  a  hundred  head  of  horses  a  day  —  bog- 
ging 'em  down  and  breaking  their  legs.  You  can 
walk  on  dead  carcasses  from  the  Porcupine  to  the 
Summit." 

A  third  stranger,  evidently  one  of  the  well- 
provided  few,  laughed  carelessly.  "If  you  boys 
can't  stand  the  strain  you'd  better  stay  where 
you  are,"  said  he.  "Grub's  sky-high  in  Daw- 
son,  and  mighty  short.  I  knew  what  I  was  up 
against,  so  I  came  prepared.  Better  go  home  and 
try  it  next  summer." 

The  first  speaker,  he  of  the  sullen  visage, 
turned  his  back,  muttering,  resentfully:  "Another 
wise  guy!  They  make  me  sick!  I've  a  notion 
to  go  through  anyhow." 

10 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Don't  try  that,"  cautioned  the  man  from 
Skagway.  "If  you  got  past  the  Police  they'd 
follow  you  to  hell  but  what  they'd  bring  you 
back.  They  ain't  like  our  police." 

Still  meditating  his  plight,  Pierce  Phillips 
edged  out  of  the  crowd  and  walked  slowly  down 
the  street.  It  was  not  a  street  at  all,  except  by 
courtesy,  for  it  was  no  more  than  an  open  water- 
front faced  by  a  few  log  buildings  and  a  meander- 
ing line  of  new  white  tents.  Tents  were  going  up 
everywhere  and  all  of  them  bore  painful  evidence 
of  their  newness.  So  did  the  clothes  of  their 
owners  for  that  matter — men's  garments  still 
bore  their  price-tags.  The  beach  was  crowded 
with  piles  of  merchandise  over  which  there  was 
much  wrangling,  barges  plying  regularly  back 
and  forth  from  the  anchored  ships  added  hourly 
to  the  confusion.  As  outfits  were  dumped  upon 
the  sand  their  owners  assembled  them  and  bore 
them  away  to  their  temporary  camp  sites.  In 
this  occupation  every  man  faced  his  own  re- 
sponsibilities single-handed,  for  there  were  neither 
drays  nor  carts  nor  vehicles  of  any  sort. 

As  Phillips  looked  on  at  the  disorder  along  the 
water's  edge,  as  he  stared  up  the  fir-flanked  Dyea 
valley,  whither  a  steady  stream  of  traffic  flowed, 
he  began  to  feel  a  fretful  eagerness  to  join  hi  it, 
to  be  up  and  going.  'Way  yonder  through  those 
hills  towered  the  Chilkoot,  and  beyond  that  was 
the  mighty  river  rushing  toward  Dawson  City, 
toward  Life  and  Adventure,  for  that  was  what  the 
gold-fields  signified  to  Phillips.  Yes,  Life!  Ad- 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

venture!  He  had  set  out  to  seek  them,  to  taste 
the  flavor  of  the  world,  and  there  it  lay — his  world, 
at  least — just  out  of  reach.  A  fierce  impatience, 
a  hot  resentment  at  that  senseless  restriction  which 
chained  him  in  his  tracks,  ran  through  the  boy. 
What  right  had  any  one  to  stop  him  here  at  the 
very  door,  when  just  inside  great  things  were 
happening?  Past  that  white-and-purple  barrier 
which  he  could  see  against  the  sky  a  new  land 
lay,  a  radiant  land  of  promise,  of  mystery,  and 
of  fascination;  Pierce  vowed  that  he  would  not, 
could  not,  wait.  Fortunes  would  reward  the  first 
arrivals;  how,  then,  could  he  permit  these  other 
men  to  precede  him?  The  world  was  a  good  place 
— it  would  not  let  a  person  starve. 

To  the  young  and  the  foot-free  Adventure  lurks 
just  over  the  hill;  Life  opens  from  the  crest  of 
the  very  next  divide.  It  matters  not  that  we 
never  quite  come  up  with  either,  that  we  never 
quite  attain  the  summit  whence  our  promises 
are  realized;  the  ever-present  expectation,  the 
eager  straining  forward,  is  the  breath  of  youth. 
It  was  that  breath  which  Phillips  now  felt  in  his 
nostrils.  It  wa"s  pungent,  salty. 

He  noted  a  group  of  people  gathered  about 
some  center  of  attraction  whence  issued  a  high- 
pitched  intonation. 

"Oh,  look  at  the  cute  little  pea!  Klondike 
croquet,  the  packer's  pastime.  Who'll  risk  a  dol- 
lar to  win  a  dollar?  It's  a  healthy  sport.  It's  good 
for  young  and  old — a  cheeild  can  understand  it. 

Three  Eskimo  igloos  and  an  educated  pill!" 

12 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"A  shell-game!"  Pierce  Phillips  halted  in  his 
tracks  and  stared  incredulously,  then  he  smiled. 
"A  shell-game,  running  wide  open  on  the  main 
street  of  the  town!"  This  was  the  frontier,  the 
very  edge  of  things.  With  an  odd  sense  of  un- 
reality he  felt  the  world  turn  back  ten  years. 
He  had  seen  shell-games  at  circuses  and  fair- 
grounds when  he  was  much  younger,  but  he  sup- 
posed they  had  long  since  been  abandoned  hi 
favor  of  more  ingenious  and  less  discreditable 
methods  of  robbery.  Evidently,  however,  there 
were  some  gulls  left,  for  this  device  appeared  to 
be  well  patronized.  Still  doubting  the  evidence 
of  his  ears,  he  joined  the  group. 

"The  gentleman  wins  and  the  gambler  loses!" 
droned  the  dealer  as  he  paid  a  bet.  "Now  then, 
we're  off  for  another  journey.  Who'll  ride  with 
me  this  time?" 

Phillips  was  amazed  that  any  one  could  be  so 
simple-minded  as  to  squander  his  money  upon 
such  a  notoriously  unprofitable  form  of  enter- 
tainment. Nevertheless,  men  were  playing,  and 
they  did  not  seem  to  suspect  that  the  persons 
whom  the  dealer  occasionally  paid  were  his  con- 
federates. 

The  operator  maintained  an  incessant  mono- 
logue. At  the  moment  of  Pierce's  arrival  he  was 
directing  it  at  an  ox-eyed  individual,  evidently 
selected  to  be  the  next  victim.  The  fellow  was 
stupid,  nevertheless  he  exercised  some  caution 
at  first.  He  won  a  few  dollars,  then  he  lost  a 
few,  but,  alas!  the  gambling  fever  mounted  in 

13 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

him  and  greed  finally  overcame  his  hesitation. 
With  an  eager  gesture  he  chose  a  shell  and  Phil- 
lips felt  a  glow  of  satisfaction  at  the  realization 
that  the  man  had  once  more  guessed  aright. 
Drawing  forth  a  wallet,  the  fellow  laid  it  on  the 
table. 

"Ill  bet  the  lump,"  he  cried. 

The  dealer  hesitated.  "How  much  you  got  in 
that  alligator  valise?" 

"Two  hundred  dollars." 

"Two  hundred  berries  on  one  bush!"  The  pro- 
prietor of  the  game  was  incredulous.  "Boys,  he 
aims  to  leave  me  cleaner  than  a  snow-bird." 
Seizing  the  walnut-shell  between  his  thumb  and 
forefinger,  he  turned  it  over,  but  instead  of  ex- 
posing the  elusive  pellet  he  managed,  by  an  al- 
most imperceptible  forward  movement,  to  roll 
it  out  from  under  its  hiding-place  and  to  conceal 
it  between  his  third  and  fourth  fingers.  The 
stranger  was  surprised,  dumfounded,  at  sight  of 
the  empty  shell.  He  looked  on  open-mouthed 
while  his  wallet  was  looted  of  its  contents. 

"Every  now  and  then  I  win  a  little  one,"  the 
gambler  announced  as  he  politely  returned  the 
bill-case  to  its  owner.  He  lifted  another  shell, 
and  by  some  sleight-of-hand  managed  to  replace 
the  pellet  upon  the  table,  then  gravely  flipped 
a  five-dollar  gold  piece  to  one  of  his  boosters. 

Phillips' s  eyes  were  quick;  from  where  he  stood 
he  had  detected  the  maneuver  and  it  left  him 
hot  with  indignation.  He  felt  impelled  to  tell 
the  victim  how  he  had  been  robbed,  but  thought 

14 


THE  WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

better  of  the  impulse  and  assured  himself  that 
this  was  none  of  his  affair.  For  perhaps  ten 
minutes  he  looked  on  while  the  sheep-shearing 
proceeded. 

After  a  tune  there  came  a  lull  and  the  dealer 
raised  his  voice  to  entice  new  patrons.  Mean- 
while, he  paused  to  roll  a  cigarette  the  size  of  a 
wheat  straw.  While  thus  engaged  there  sounded 
the  hoarse  blast  of  a  steamer's  whistle  in  the  offing 
and  he  turned  his  head.  Profiting  by  this  instant 
of  inattention  a  hand  reached  across  the  table 
and  lifted  one  of  the  walnut-shells.  There  was 
nothing  under  it. 

"Five  bucks  on  this  one!"  A  soiled  bill  was 
placed  beside  one  of  the  two  remaining  shells, 
the  empty  one. 

Thus  far  Phillips  had  followed  the  pea  uner- 
ringly, therefore  he  was  amazed  at  the  new  better's 
mistake. 

The  dealer  turned  back  to  his  layout  and  winked 
at  the  bystanders,  saying,  "  Brother,  I'll  bet  you 
ten  more  that  you've  made  a  bad  bet."  His  offer 
was  accepted.  Simultaneously  Phillips  was  seized 
with  an  intense  desire  to  beat  this  sharper  at  his 
own  game:  impulsively  he  laid  a  protecting  palm 
over  the  shell  beneath  which  he  knew  the  little 
sphere  to  lie. 

"I'll  pick  this  one,"  he  heard  himself  say. 

"Better  let  me  deal  you  a  new  hand,"  the 
gambler  suggested. 

"Nothing  of  the  sort,"  a  man  at  Phillips' 
shoulder  broke  in.  "Hang  on  to  that  shell,  kid. 

15 


THE  WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

You're  right  and  I'm  going  down  for  the  size  of 
his  bankroll. ' '  The  speaker  was  evidently  a  miner, 
for  he  carried  a  bulky  pack  upon  his  shoulders. 
He  placed  a  heavy  palm  over  the  back  of  Phillips' 
hand,  then  extracted  from  the  depths  of  his  over- 
alls a  fat  roll  of  paper  money. 

The  size  of  this  wager,  together  with  the  de- 
termination of  its  owner,  appeared  briefly  to  non- 
plus the  dealer.  He  voiced  a  protest,  but  the 
miner  forcibly  overbore  it: 

"Say,  I  eat  up  this  shell  stuff!"  he  declared. 
"It's  my  meat,  and  I've  trimmed  every  tinhorn 
that  ever  came  to  my  town.  There's  three  hun- 
dred dollars;  you  cover  it,  and  you  cover  this 
boy's  bet,  too."  The  fellow  winked  reassuringly 
at  Phillips.  "You  heard  him  say  the  sky  was 
his  limit,  didn't  you?  Well,  let's  see  how  high 
the  sky  is  in  these  parts!" 

There  was  a  merement  in  the  crowd,  where- 
upon the  speaker  cried,  warningly:  "Boosters, 
stand  back!  Don't  try  to  give  us  the  elbow,  or 
I'll  close  up  this  game!"  To  Pierce  he  mur- 
mured, confidentially:  "We've  got  him  right. 
Don't  let  anybody  edge  you  out."  He  put  more 
weight  upon  Phillips'  hand  and  forced  the  young 
man  closer  to  the  table. 

Pierce  had  no  intention  of  surrendering  his 
place,  and  now  the  satisfaction  of  triumphing 
over  these  crooks  excited  him.  He  continued 
to  cover  the  walnut-shell  while  with  his  free 
hand  he  drew  his  own  money  from  his  pocket. 

He  saw  that  the  owner  of  the  game  was  suffering 

16 


THE   WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

extreme  discomfort  at  this  checkmate,  and  he 
enjoyed  the  situation. 

"I  watched  you  trim  that  farmer  a  few  minutes 
ago,"  Phillips'  companion  chuckled.  "Now  I'm 
going  to  make  you  put  up  or  shut  up.  There's  my 
three  hundred.  I  can  use  it  when  it  grows  to  six." 

"How  much  are  you  betting?"  the  dealer  in- 
quired of  Phillips. 

Pierce  had  intended  merely  to  risk  a  dollar  or 
two,  but  now  there  came  to  him  a  tlirilling  thought. 
That  notice  at  Healy  &  Wilson's  store  flashed  into 
his  mind.  "One  thousand  dollars  and  a  ton  of 
food,"  tjie  sign  had  read.  Well,  why  not  bet  and 
bet  heavy?  he  asked  himself.  Here  was  a  chance 
to  double  his  scanty  capital  at  the  expense  of  a 
rogue.  To  beat  a  barefaced  cheater  at  his  own 
game  surely  could  not  be  considered  cheating; 
hi  this  instance  it  was  mere  retribution. 

He  had  no  rime  to  analyze  the  right  or  the 
wrong  of  his  reasoning — at  best  the  question 
would  bear  debate.  Granting  that  it  wasn't 
exactly  honest,  what  did  such  nice  considerations 
weigh  when  balanced  against  the  stern  necessities 
of  this  hour?  A  stranger  endeavored  to  shove 
him  away  from  the  table  and  this  clinched  his 
decision.  He'd  make  them  play  fair.  With  a 
sweep  of  his  free  arm,  Phillips  sent  the  fellow 
staggering  back  and  then  placed  Ms  entire  roll 
of  bills  on  the  table  hi  front  of  the  dealer. 

"There's  mine,"  he  said,  shortly.  "One  hun- 
dred and  thirty-five  dollars.  I  don't  have  to 

count  it,  for  I  know  it  by  heart." 

17 


THE   WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

"  Business  appears  to  be  picking  up,"  murmured 
the  proprietor  of  the  game. 

Phillips'  neighbor  continued  to  hold  the  boy's 
hand  in  a  vicelike  grip.  Now  he  leaned  forward, 
saying: 

"Look  here!  Are  you  going  to  cover  our  coin 
or  am  I  going  to  smoke  you  up?" 

"The  groans  of  the  gambler  is  sweet  music  in 
their  ears!"  The  dealer  shrugged  reluctantly  and 
counted  out  four  hundred  and  thirty-five  dollars, 
which  he  separated  into  two  piles. 

A  certain  shame  at  his  action  swept  over  Phillips 
when  he  felt  his  companion's  grasp  relax  and 
heard  him  say,  "Turn  her  over,  kid." 

This  was  diamond  cut  diamond,  of  course; 
nevertheless,  it  was  a  low-down  trick  and — 

Pierce  Phillips  started,  he  examined  the  in- 
terior of  the  walnut-shell  in  bewilderment,  for  he 
had  lifted  it  only  to  find  it  quite  empty. 

"Every  now  and  then  I  win  a  little  one,"  the 
dealer  intoned,  gravely  pocketing  his  winnings. 
"It  only  goes  to  show  you  that  the  hand— 

"Damnation!"  exploded  the  man  at  Phillips' 
side.  "Trimmed  for  three  hundred,  or  I'm  a 
goat!" 

As  Pierce  walked  away  some  one  fell  into  step 
with  him;  it  was  the  sullen,  black-browed  individ- 
ual he  had  seen  at  the  trading-post. 

"So  they  took  you  for  a  hundred  and  thirty- 
five,  eh?  You  must  be  rolling  hi  coin,"  the  man 
observed. 

Even  yet  Pierce  was  more  than  a  little  dazed. 

IB 


"Do  you  know,"  said  he,  "I  was  sure  I  had  the 
right  shell." 

"Why,  of  course  you  had  the  right  one."  The 
stranger  leughed  shortly.  "They  laid  it  up  for 
you  on  purpose,  then  Kid  Bridges  worked  a  shift 
when  he  held  your  hand.  You  can't  beat  'em." 

Pierce  halted.  "Was  he — was  that  fellow  with 
the  pack  a  booster?" 

"Certainly.  They're  all  boosters.  The  Kid 
carries  enough  hay  on  his  back  to  feed  a  team. 
It's  his  bed.  I've  been  here  a  week  and  I  know 
'em."  The  speaker  stared  in  surprise  at  Phillips, 
who  had  broken  into  a  hearty  laugh.  ' '  Look  here ! 
A  little  hundred  and  thirty-five  must  be  chicken 
feed  to  you.  If  you've  got  any  more  to  toss 
away,  toss  it  in  my  direction." 

"That's  what  makes  it  so  funny.  You  see,  I 
haven't  any  more.  That  was  my  last  dollar. 
Well,  it  serves  me  right.  Now  I  can  start  from 
scratch  and  win  on  my  own  speed." 

The  dark-browrd  man  studied  Phillips  curiously. 
"You're  certainty  game,"  he  announced.  "I 
s'pose  now  you'll  be  wanting  to  sell  some  of  your 
outfit.  That's  why  I've  been  hanging  around 
that  game.  I've  picked  up  quite  a  bit  of  stuff 
that  way,  but  I'm  still  short  a  few  things  and  I'll 
buy—" 

' '  I  haven't  a  pound  of  grub.  I  came  up  second- 
dass." 

"Huh!    Then  you'll  go  back  steerage." 

"Oh  no,  I  won't!  I'm  going  on  fco  Dawson." 
There  was  a  momentary  silence.  "You  say 

19 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

you've  been  here  a  week?    Put  me  up  for  the 
night — until  I  get  a  job.     Will  you?" 

The  black-eyed  man  hesitated,  then  he  grinned. 
"You've  got  your  nerve,  but — I'm  blamed  if  I 
don't  like  it,"  said  he.  "My  brother  Jim  is  cook- 
ing supper  now.  Suppose  we  go  over  to  the  tent 
and  ask  him." 


CHAPTER    II 

THE  headwaters  of  the  Dyea  River  spring  from 
a  giant's  punch-bowl.  Three  miles  above  tim- 
ber-line the  valley  bottom  widens  out  into  a  flinty 
field  strewn  with  boulders  which  in  ages  past  have 
lost  their  footing  on  the  steep  hills  forming  the 
sides  of  the  cup.  Between  these  boulders  a  thin 
carpet  of  moss  is  spread,  but  the  slopes  themselves 
are  quite  naked;  they  are  seamed  and  cracked  and 
weather-beaten,  their  surfaces  are  split  and  shat- 
tered from  the  play  of  the  elements.  High  up 
toward  the  crest  of  one  of  them  rides  a  glacier — 
a  pallid,  weeping  sentinel  which  stands  guard  for 
the  great  ice-caps  beyond.  Winter  snows,  sum- 
mer fogs  and  rains  have  washed  the  hillsides  clean; 
they  are  leached  out  and  they  present  a  lifeless, 
forbidding  front  to  travelers.  In  many  places 
the  granite  fragments  which  still  encumber  them 
lie  piled  one  above  another  hi  such  titanic  chaos 
as  to  discourage  man's  puny  efforts  to  climb  over 
them.  Nevertheless,  men  have  done  so,  and  by 
the  thousands,  by  the  tens  of  thousands.  On 
this  particular  morning  an  unending  procession  of 
human  beings  was  straining  up  and  over  and 
through  the  confusion.  They  lifted  themselves 

21 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

by  foot  and  by  hand;  where  the  slope  was  steep- 
est they  crept  on  all-fours.  They  formed  an  un- 
broken, threadlike  stream  extending  from  timber- 
line  to  crest,  each  individual  being  dwarfed 
to  microscopic  proportions  by  the  size  of  his  sur- 
roundings. They  flowed  across  the  floor  of  the 
valley,  then  slowly,  very  slowly,  they  flowed  up 
its  almost  perpendicular  wall.  Now  they  were  lost 
to  sight;  again  they  reappeared  clambering  over 
glacier  scars  or  toiling  up  steep,  rocky  slides; 
finally  they  emerged  away  up  under  the  arch  of 
the  sky. 

Looking  down  from  the  roof  of  the  pass  itself, 
the  scene  was  doubly  impressive,  for  the  wooded 
valley  lay  outstretched  clear  to  the  sea,  and  out  of 
it  came  that  long,  wavering  line  of  ants.  They 
did,  indeed,  appear  to  be  ants,  those  men,  as  they 
dragged  themselves  across  the  meadow  and  up 
the  ascent;  they  resembled  nothing  more  than  a 
file  of  those  industrious  insects  creeping  across  the 
bottom  and  up  the  sides  of  a  bath-tub,  and  the 
likeness  was  borne  out  by  the  fact  that  all  carried 
burdens.  That  was  in  truth  the  marvel  of  the 
scene,  for  every  man  on  the  Chilkoot  was  bent 
beneath  a  back-breaking  load. 

Three  miles  down  the  gulch,  where  the  upward 
march  of  the  forests  had  been  halted,  there,  among 
scattered  outposts  of  scrubby  spruce  and  wind' 
twisted  willow,  stood  a  village,  a  sprawling,  form- 
less aggregation  of  flimsy  tents  and  green  logs 
known  as  Sheep  Camp.  Although  it  was  a  tem- 
porary, makeshift  town,  alreadv  it  bulked  big  in 

22 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

the  minds  of  men  from  Maine  to  California,  from 
the  Great  Lakes  to  the  Gulf,  for  it  was  the  last 
outpost  of  civilization,  and  beyond  it  lay  a  land 
of  mystery.  Sheep  Camp  had  become  famous  by 
reason  of  the  fact  that  it  was  linked  with  the 
name  of  that  Via  Dolorosa,  that  summit  of  de- 
spair, the  Chilkoot.  Already  it  had  come  to 
stand  for  the  weak  man's  ultimate  mile-post,  the 
end  of  many  journeys. 

The  approach  from  the  sea  was  easy,  if  twelve 
miles  of  boulder  and  bog,  of  swamp  and  nigger- 
head,  of  root  and  stump,  can  be  called  easy  under 
the  best  of  circumstances;  but  easy  it  was  as 
compared  with  what  lay  beyond  and  above  it. 
Nevertheless,  many  Argonauts  had  never  pene- 
trated even  thus  far,  and  of  those  who  had,  a 
considerable  proportion  had  turned  back  at  the 
giant  pit  three  miles  above.  One  look  at  the 
towering  barrier  had  been  enough  for  them.  The 
Chilkoot  was  more  than  a  mountain,  more  than 
an  obstacle  of  nature;  it  was  a  Presence,  a  tre- 
mendous and  a  terrifying  Personality  which  over- 
shadowed the  minds  of  men  and  could  neither  be 
ignored  at  the  time  nor  forgotten  later.  No  won- 
der, then,  that  Sheep  Camp,  which  was  a  part  of 
the  Chilkoot,  represented  a  sort  of  acid  test; 
no  wonder  that  those  who  had  moved  their  out- 
fits thus  far  were  of  the  breed  the  Northland  loves 
— the  stout  of  heart  and  of  body. 

Provisions  were  cached  at  frequent  intervals  all 
the  way  up  from  the  sea,  but  in  the  open  meadow 
beneath  the  thousand-foot  wall  an  immense  sup- 

23 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

ply  depot  had  sprung  up.  This  pocket  in  the  hills 
had  become  an  open-air  commissary,  stocked  with 
every  sort  of  provender  and  gear.  There  were 
acres  of  sacks  and  bundles,  of  boxes  and  bales, 
of  lumber  and  hardware  and  perishable  stuffs, 
and  all  day  long  men  came  and  went  in  relays. 
One  relay  staggered  up  and  out  of  the  canon  and 
dropped  its  packs,  another  picked  up  the  bundles 
and  ascended  skyward.  Pound  by  pound,  ton 
by  ton,  this  vast  equipment  of  supplies  went  for- 
ward, but  slowly,  oh,  so  slowly!  And  at  such 
effort!  It  was  indeed  fit  work  for  ants,  for  it 
arrived  nowhere  and  it  never  ended.  Antlike, 
these  burden-bearers  possessed  but  one  idea — to 
fetch  and  to  carry;  they  traveled  back  and  forth 
along  the  trail  until  they  wore  it  into  a  bottom- 
less bog,  until  every  rock,  every  tree,  every  land- 
mark along  it  became  hatefully  familiar  and  their 
eyes  grew  sick  from  seeing  them. 

The  character  of  their  labor  and  its  monotony, 
even  hi  this  short  tune,  had  changed  the  men's 
characters — they  had  become  paciv-animals  and 
they  deported  themselves  as  such.  All  labor- 
saving  devices,  all  mechanical  aids,  all  short  cuts 
to  comfort  and  to  ac<MDmpIishment,  had  been  left 
behind ;  here  was  the  wilderness,  primitive,  hostile, 
merciless.  Every  foot  they  moved,  every  ounce 
they  carried,  was  at  the  cost  of  muscular  exertion. 
It  was  only  natural  that  they  should  take  on  the 
color  of  their  surroundings. 

Money  lost  its  value  a  mile  above  Sheep  Camp 
and  became  a  thing  of  weight,  a  thing  to  carry. 

24 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

The  standard  of  value  was  the  pound,  and  men 
thought  in  hundredweights  or  in  tons.  Yet  there 
was  no  relief,  no  respite,  for  famine  stalked  in  the 
Yukon  and  the  Northwest  Mounted  were  on 
guard,  hence  these  unfortunates  were  chained  to 
their  grub-piles  as  galley-slaves  are  shackled  to 
their  benches. 

Toe  to  heel,  like  peons  rising  from  the  bowels 
of  a  mine,  they  bent  their  backs  and  strained  up 
that  riven  rock  wall.  Blasphemy  and  pain,  high 
hopes  and  black  despair,  hearts  overtaxed  and 
eyes  blind  with  fatigue,  that  was  what  the  Chil- 
koot  stood  for.  Permeating  the  entire  atmos- 
phere of  the  place,  so  that  even  the  dullest  could 
feel  it,  was  a  feverish  haste,  an  apprehensive  de- 
mand for  speed,  more  speed,  to  keep  ahead  of 
the  pressing  thousands  coming  on  behind. 

Pierce  Phillips  breasted  the  last  rise  to  the 
Summit,  slipped  his  pack-straps,  and  flung  himself 
full  length  upon  the  ground.  His  lungs  felt  as  if 
they  were  bursting,  the  blood  surged  through  his 
veins  until  he  rocked,  his  body  streamed  with 
sweat,  and  his  legs  were  as  heavy  as  if  molded 
from  solid  iron.  He  was  pumped  out,  winded; 
nevertheless,  he  felt  his  strength  return  with  magic 
swiftness,  for  he  possessed  that  marvelous  recu- 
perative power  of  youth,  and,  like  some  fabled 
warrior,  new  strength  flowed  into  him  from  the 
earth.  Round  about  him  other  men  were  sprawled ; 
some  lay  like  corpses,  others  were  propped  against 
their  packs,  a  few  stirred  and  sighed  like  the  sorely 

25 


wounded  after  a  charge.  Those  who  had  lain 
longest  rose,  took  up  their  burdens,  and  went 
groaning  over  the  sky-line  and  out  of  sight.  Every 
moment  new  faces,  purple  with  effort  or  white 
with  exhaustion,  rose  out  of  the  depths — all  were 
bitten  deep  with  lines  of  physical  suffering.  On 
buckled  knees  their  owners  lurched  forward  to 
find  resting-places;  in  their  eyes  burned  a  sullen 
rage;  in  their  mouths  were  foul  curses  at  this 
Devil's  Stairway.  There  were  striplings  and 
graybeards  in  the  crowd,  strong  men  and  weak 
men,  but  here  at  the  Summit  all  were  alike  in 
one  particular — they  lacked  breath  for  anything 
except  oaths. 

Here,  too,  as  in  the  valley  beneath,  was  an- 
other great  depot  of  provision  piles.  Near  where 
Phillips  had  thrown  himself  down  there  was  one 
man  whose  bearing  was  in  marked  contrast  to 
that  of  the  others.  He  sat  astride  a  bulging  can- 
vas bag  in  a  leather  harness,  and  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  the  mark  of  a  tump-line  showed  beneath 
his  cap  he  betrayed  no  signs  of  fatigue.  He  was 
not  at  all  exhausted,  and  from  the  interest  he 
displayed  it  seemed  that  he  had  chosen  this  spot 
as  a  vantage-point  from  which  to  study  the  up- 
coming file  rather  than  as  a  place  in  which  to 
rest.  This  he  did  with  a  quick,  appreciative  eye 
and  with  a  genial  smile.  In  face,  in  dress,  in  man- 
ner, he  was  different.  For  one  thing,  he  was  of 
foreign  birth,  and  yet  he  appeared  to  be  more  a 
piece  of  the  country  than  any  man  Pierce  had 
seen.  His  clothes  were  of  a  pattern  common 

26 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

among  the  native  packers,  but  he  wore  thorn  with 
a  free,  unconscious  grace  all  his  own.  From  the 
peak  of  his  Canadian  toque  there  depended  a 
tassel  which  bobbed  when  he  talked;  his  boots 
were  of  Indian  make,  and  they  were  soft  and  light 
and  waterproof;  a  sash  of  several  colors  was 
knotted  about  his  waist.  But  it  was  not  alone 
his  dress  which  challenged  the  eye — there  was 
something  in  this  fellow's  easy,  open  bearing  which 
arrested  attention.  His  dark  skin  had  been  deep- 
ened by  windburn,  his  well-set,  well-shaped  head 
bore  a  countenance  both  eager  and  intelligent,  a 
countenance  that  fairly  glowed  writh  confidence 
and  good  humor. 

Oddly  enough,  he  sang  as  he  sat  upon  his  pack. 
High  up  on  this  hillside,  amid  blasphemous  com- 
plaints, he  hummed  a  gay  little  song: 

"Chante,  rossignol,  chantt! 
Toi  qui  a  le  coeur  gai  ! 
Tu  as  le  occur  a  rire 
Mai  j'l'ai-t-a  pleurer," 

ran  his  chanson. 

Phillips  had  seen  the  fellow  several  times,  and 
the  circumstances  of  their  first  encounter  had 
been  sufficiently  unusual  to  impress  themselves 
upon  his  mind.  Pierce  had  been  resting  here,  at 
this  very  spot,  when  the  Canuck  had  come  up 
into  sight,  bearing  a  hundred-pound  pack  without 
apparent  effort.  Two  flour-sacks  upon  a  man's 
back  was  a  rare  sight  on  the  roof  of  the  Chilkoot. 

There  were  not  many  who  could  master  that 
3  27 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

slope  with  more  than  one,  but  this  fellow  had 
borne  his  burden  without  apparent  effort;  and 
what  was  even  more  remarkable,  what  had  caused 
Pierce  Phillips  to  open  his  eyes  in  genuine  aston- 
ishment, was  the  fact  that  the  man  climbed  with 
a  pipe  in  his  teeth  and  smoked  it  with  relish. 
On  that  occasion  the  Frenchman  had  not  stopped 
at  the  crest  to  breathe,  but  had  merely  paused 
long  enough  to  admire  the  scene  outspread  be- 
neath him;  then  he  had  swung  onward.  Of  all 
the  sights  young  Phillips  had  beheld  in  this  new 
land,  the  vision  of  that  huge,  unhurried  Canadian, 
smoking,  had  impressed  him  deepest.  It  had 
awakened  his  keen  envy,  too,  for  Pierce  was  be- 
ginning to  glory  in  his  own  strength.  A  few  days 
later  they  had  rested  near  each  other  on  the 
Long  Lake  portage.  That  is,  Phillips  had  rested ; 
the  Canadian,  it  seemed,  had  a  habit  of  pausing 
when  and  where  the  fancy  struck  him.  His 
reason  for  stopping  there  had  been  the  antics  of  a 
peculiarly  fearless  and  impertinent  "camp-rob- 
ber." With  a  crust  of  bread  he  had  tolled  the 
bird  almost  within  his  reach  and  was  accepting 
its  scolding  with  intense  amusement.  Having 
both  teased  and  made  friends  with  the  creature, 
he  finally  gave  it  the  crust  and  resumed  his 
journey. 

This  was  a  land  where  brawn  was  glorified;  the 
tales  told  oftenest  around  the  stoves  at  Sheep 
Camp  had  to  do  with  feats  of  strength  or  endur- 
ance, they  were  stories  of  mighty  men  and  mighty 
packs,  of  long  marches  and  of  grim  staying  powers. 

28 


THE   WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

Already  the  names  of  certain  "old-timers"  like 
Dinsmore  and  McDonald  and  Peterson  and  Stick 
Jim  had  become  famous  because  of  some  con- 
spicuous exploit.  Dinsmore,  according  to  the 
legend,  had  once  lugged  a  hundred  and  sixty 
pounds  to  the  Summit;  McDonald  had  bent  a 
horseshoe  in  his  hands;  Peterson  had  lifted  the 
stem-piece  out  of  a  poling-boat  lodged  on  the  rocks 
below  White  Horse;  Stick  Jim  had  run  down  a 
moose  and  killed  it  with  his  knife. 

From  what  Phillips  had  seen  of  this  French 
Canadian  it  was  plain  that  he,  too,  was  an  "old- 
timer,"  one  of  that  Jovian  band  of  supermen  who 
had  dared  the  dark  interior  and  robbed  the  bars  of 
Forty  Mile  in  the  hard  days  before  the  El  Dorado 
discovery.  Since  this  was  their  first  opportunity 
of  exchanging  speech,  Phillips  ventured  to  address 
the  man. 

"I  thought  I  had  a  load  this  morning,  but  I'd 
hate  to  swap  packs  with  you,"  he  said. 

The  Frenchman  flashed  him  a  smile  which  ex- 
posed a  row  of  teeth  snow-white  against  his  tan. 
"Ho!  You're  stronger  as  me.  I  see  you  plenty 
tarns  biff  ore." 

This  was  indeed  agreeable  praise,  and  Pierce 
showed  his  pleasure.  "Oh  no!"  he  modestly  pro- 
tested. "I'm  just  getting  broken  in." 

"Look  out  you  don'  broke  your  back,"  warned 
the  other.  "Dis  Chilkoot  she's  bad  bizness. 
She's  keel  a  lot  of  dese  sof  fellers.  Dey  get 
seeck  hi  de  back.  You  hear  'bout  it?" 

"  Spinal  meningitis.    It's  partly  from  exposure." 

29 


THE   WINDS    OF   CHANCE 

"Dat's  him!  Don'  never  cany  too  moch;  don* 
be  in  soch  hurry." 

Phillips  laughed  at  this  caution.  ' '  Why,  we  have 
to  hurry,  "said  he.  "New  people  are  coming  all  the 
time  and  they'll  beat  us  in  if  we  don't  look  out." 

His  comrade  shrugged.  "Mebbeso;  but  s'pos- 
in'  dey  do.  Wat's  de  hodds?  She's  beeg  coun- 
tree;  dere's  plenty  claims," 

"  Are  there,  really?"  Phillips'  eyes  brightened. 
" You're  an  old-timer;  you've  been  'inside.'  Do 
you  mean  there's  plenty  of  gold  for  all  of  us?" 

"Dere  ain't  'miff  gold  ir.  all  de  worl'  for  some 
people." 

"I  mean  is  Dawson  as  rich  as  they  say  it  is?" 

"Urn— m!    I  don'  know." 

"Didn't  you  get  in  on  the  strike?" 

"I  hear  'bout  'im,  but  I'm  t'inkin'  'bout  oder 
t'ings." 

Phillips  regarded  the  speaker  curiously.  "That's 
funny.  What  business  are  you  in?" 

"My  bizness?  Jus'  livin'."  The  Canadian's 
eyes  twinkled.  "You  don'  savvy,  eh — ?  Wai, 
dat's  biccause  you're  lak  dese  oder  feller — you're 
in  beeg  hurry  to  be  reech.  Me — ?"  He  shrugged 
his  brawny  shoulders  and  smiled  cheerily.  "I  got 
plenty  tarn.  I'm  loafer.  I  enjoy  myse'f — " 

"So  do  I.  For  that  matter,  I'm  enjoying  my- 
self now.  I  think  this  is  all  perfectly  corking,  and 
I'm  having  the  time  of  my  young  life.  Why,  just 
think,  over  there" — Pierce  waved  his  hand  tow- 
ard the  northward  panorama  of  white  peaks  and 
purple  valleys — "everything  is  unknown!"  His 

30 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

face  lit  up  with  some  restless  desire  which  the 
Frenchman  appeared  to  understand,  for  he  nodded 
seriously.  "Sometimes  it  scares  me  a  little." 

"Wat  you  scare'  'bout,  you?" 

"  Myself,  I  suppose.  Sometimes  I'm  afraid  I 
haven't  the  stuff  hi  me  to  last." 

"Dat's  good  sign."  The  speaker  slipped  his 
arms  into  his  pack-harness  and  adjusted  the  tump- 
line  to  his  forehead  preparatory  to  rising.  "You 
goin'  mak'  good  'sourdough'  lak  me.  You  goin' 
love  de  woods  and  de  hills  wen  you  know  'em.  I 
can  tell.  Wai,  I  see  you  bimeby  at  W'ite 
'Orse." 

"White  Horse?     Is  that  where  you're  going?" 

"Yes.     I'm  batteau  man;   I'm  goin'  be  pilot." 

"Isn't  that  pretty  dangerous  work?  They  say 
those  rapids  are  awful." 

"Sure!  Everybody  scare'  to  try  'im.  Wen 
I  came  up  dey  pay  me  fifty  dollar  for  tak'  one  boat 
t'rough.  By  gosh!  I  never  mak'  so  moch  money 
— free  houdred  dollar  a  day.  I'm  reech  man  now. 
You  lak  get  reech  queeck?  I  teach  you  be  pilot. 
Swif'  water,  beeg  noise!  Plenty  fun  in  dat!" 
The  Canadian  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed 
loudly.  "Wat  you  say?" 

"I  wouldn't  mind  trying  it,"  Pierce  confessed, 
"but  I  have  no  outfit.  I'm  packing  for  wages. 
I'll  be  along  when  I  get  my  grub-stake  together." 

"Good!  I  go  purty  queeck  now.  Wen  you 
come,  I  tak'  you  t'rough  de  canon  free.  In  one 
day  I  teach  you  be  good  pilot.  You  ask  for 
'Poleon  Doret.  Remember?" 

31 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"I  say!"  Phillips  halted  the  cheerful  giant  as 
he  was  about  to  rise.  "Do  you  know,  you're  the 
first  man  who  has  offered  to  do  me  a  favor;  you're 
the  only  one  who  hasn't  tried  to  hold  me  back  and 
climb  over  me.  You're  the  first  man  I've  seen 
with — with  a  smile  on  his  face." 

The  speaker  nodded.  "I  know!  It's  peety, 
too.  Dese  poor  feller  is  scare',  lak'  you.  Dey 
don'  onderstan'.  But  bimeby,  dey  get  wise;  dey 
learn  to  he'p  de  oder  feller,  dey  learn  dat  a  smile 
will  carry  a  pack  or  row  a  boat.  You  remember 
dat.  A  smile  and  a  song,  she'll  shorten  de  miles 
and  mak'  fren's  wid  everybody.  Don'  forget  w'at 
I  tell  you." 

"Thank  you,  I  won't,"  said  Pierce,  with  a 
flicker  of  amusement  at  the  man's  brief  sermon. 
This  Doret  was  evidently  a  sort  of  backwoods 
preacher. 

"Adieu!"  With  another  flashing  smile  and  a 
wave  of  his  hand  the  fellow  joined  the  procession 
and  went  on  over  the  crest. 

It  had  been  pleasant  to  exchange  even  these 
few  friendly  words,  for  of  late  the  habit  of  silence 
had  been  forced  upon  Pierce  Phillips.  For  weeks 
now  he  had  toiled  among  reticent  men  who  re- 
garded him  with  hostility,  who  made  way  for 
him  with  reluctance.  Haste,  labor,  strain  had 
numbed  and  brutalized  them;  fatigue  had  ren- 
dered them  irritable,  and  the  strangeness  of  their 
environment  had  made  them  both  fearful  and 
suspicious.  There  was  no  good-fellowship,  no 
consideration  on  the  Chilkoot.  This  was  a  race 

32 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

against  time,  and  the  stakes  went  to  him  who 
was  most  ruthless.  Phillips  had  not  exaggerated. 
Until  this  morning,  he  had  received  no  faintest 
word  of  encouragement,  no  slightest  offer  of  help. 
Not  once  had  a  hand  been  outstretched  to  him, 
and  every  inch  he  had  gained  had  been  won  at 
the  cost  of  his  own  efforts  and  by  reason  of  his 
own  determination. 

He  was  yet  warm  with  a  wordless  gratitude  at 
the  Frenchman's  cheer  when  a  figure  came  lurch- 
ing toward  him  and  fell  into  the  space  Doret  had 
vacated.  This  man  was  quite  the  opposite  of  the 
one  who  had  just  left;  he  was  old  and  he  was  far 
from  robust.  He  fell  face  downward  and  lay 
motionless.  Impulsively  Phillips  rose  and  re- 
moved the  new-comer's  pack. 

"That  last  lift  takes  it  out  of  you,  doesn't  it?" 
he  inquired,  sympathetically. 

After  a  moment  the  stranger  hf ted  a  thin,  color- 
less face  overgrown  with  a  bushy  gray  beard  and 
began  to  curse  hi  a  gasping  voice. 

The  youth  warned  him.  "You're  only  thing 
yourself,  my  friend.  It's  all  down-hill  from  here." 

The  sufferer  regarded  Phillips  from  a  pair  of 
hard,  smoky-blue  eyes  in  which  there  lurked  both 
curiosity  and  surprise. 

"I  say!"  he  panted.  "You're  the  first  white 
man  I've  met  in  two  weeks." 

Pierce  laughed.  "It's  the  result  of  a  good  ex- 
ample. A  fellow  was  decent  to  me  just  now." 

"This  is  the  kind  of  work  that  gives  a  man 

dead  babies/'  groaned  the  stranger.     "And  these 

33 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

darned  trail-hogs!"  He  ground  his  teeth  vindic- 
tively. "'Get  out  of  the  way!'  'Hurry  up,  old 
man!'  'Step  lively,  grandpa!'  That's  what  they 
say.  They  snap  at  your  heels  like  coyotes. 
Hurry  ?  You  can't  force  your  luek !"  The  speaker 
struggled  into  a  sitting  posture  and  hi  an  apologetic 
tone  explained:  "I  dassent  lay  down  or  I'll  get 
rheumatism.  Tough  guys — frontiersmen — Pah!" 
He  spat  out  the  exclamation  with  disgust,  then 
closed  his  eyes  again  and  sank  back  against  his 
burden.  "Coyotes!  That's  what  they  are! 
They'd  rob  a  carcass,  they'd  gnaw  each  other's 
bones  to  get  through  ahead  of  the  ice." 

Up  out  of  the  chasm  below  came  a  slow-moving 
file  of  Indian  packers.  Their  eyes  were  bent  upon 
the  ground,  and  they  stepped  noiselessly  into  one 
another's  tracks.  The  only  sound  they  made 
came  from  their  creaking  pack-leathers.  They 
paused  briefly  to  breathe  and  to  take  in  their  sur- 
roundings, then  they  went  on  and  out  of  sight. 

When  they  had  disappeared  the  stranger  spoke 
hi  a  changed  tone.  "Poor  devils!  I  wonder 
what  they've  done.  And  you?"  he  turned  to 
Phillips,  "What  sins  have  you  committed?" 

"Oh,  just  the  ordinary  ones.  But  I  don't  look 
at  it  that  way.  This  Is  a  sort  of  a  lark  for  me, 
anc  I'm  having  a  great  time.  It's  pretty  fierce, 
I'll  admit,  but — I  wouldn't  miss  it  for  anything. 
Would  you?" 

"Would  I?  In  a  minute!  You're  young,  I'm 
old.  I've  got  rheumatism  and — a  partner.  He 
can't  pack  enough  grub  for  his  own  lunch,  and  I 

34 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

have  to  do  it  all.  He's  a  Jonah,  too — born  on 
Friday,  or  something.  Last  night  somebody  stole 
a  sack  of  our  bacon.  Sixty  pounds,  and  every 
pound  had  cost  me  sweat!"  Again  the  speaker 
ground  his  teeth  vindictively.  "Lord!  I'd  like 
to  catch  the  fellow  that  did  it!  I'd  take  a  drop 
of  blood  for  every  drop  of  sweat  that  bacon  cost. 
Have  you  lost  anything?" 

"I  haven't  anything  to  lose.  I'm  packing 
for  wages  to  earn  money  enough  to  buy  an 
outfit," 

After  a  brief  survey  of  Phillips'  burden,  the 
stranger  said,  enviously :  "  Looks  like  you  wouldn't 
have  to  make  more  than  a  trip  or  two.  I  wish  I 
could  pack  like  you  do,  but  I'm  stove  up.  At  that, 
I'm  better  than  my  partner!  He  couldn't  carry 
a  tune."  There  was  a  pause.  "He  eats  good, 
though;  eats  like  a  hired  man  and  he  snores  so  I 
can't  sleep.  I  just  lie  awake  nights  and  groan  at 
the  joints  and  listen  to  him  grow  old.  He  can't 
even  guard  our  grub-pile." 

"The  Vigilantes  will  put  a  stop  to  this  stealing," 
Pierce  ventured. 

"Think  so?  Who's  going  to  keep  an  eye  on 
them?  Who's  going  to  strangle  the  Stranglers? 
Chances  are  they're  the  very  ones  that  are  lifting 
our  grub.  I  know  these  citizens'  committees." 
Whatever  the  physical  limitations  of  the  rheu- 
matic Argonaut,  it  was  plain  that  his  temper  was 
active  and  his  resentment  strong. 

Phillips  had  cooled  off  by  this  tune;  in  fact, 
the  chill  breath  of  the  snow-fields  had  begun  to 

35 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

penetrate  his  sodden  clothing,  therefore  he  pre- 
pared to  take  up  his  march. 

"Going  through  to  Linderman?"  queried  the 
other  man.  "So  am  I.  If  you'll  wait  a  second  I'll 
join  you.  Maybe  we  can  give  each  other  a  hand." 

The  speaker's  motive  was  patent;  nevertheless, 
Phillips  obligingly  acceded  to  his  request,  and  a 
short  tune  later  assisted  him  into  his  harness, 
whereupon  they  set  out  one  behind  the  other. 
Pierce's  pack  was  at  least  double  the  weight  of 
his  companion's,  and  it  gave  him  a  pleasurable 
thrill  to  realize  that  he  was  one  of  the  strong,  one 
of  the  elect ;  he  wondered  pityingly  how  long  this 
feeble,  middle-aged  man  could  last. 

Before  they  had  tramped  far,  however,  he  saw 
that  the  object  of  his  pity  possessed  a  quality 
which  was  lacking  in  many  of  the  younger,  stronger 
stampeders — namely,  a  grim  determination,  a 
dogged  perseverance — no  poor  substitute,  indeed, 
for  youth  and  brawn.  Once  the  man  was  hi  mo- 
tion he  made  no  complaint,  and  he  managed  to 
maintain  a  very  good  pace. 

Leaving  the  crest  of  Chilkoot  behind  them,  the 
travelers  bore  to  the  right  across  the  snowcap, 
then  followed  the  ridge  above  Crater  Lake. 
Every  mile  or  two  they  rested  briefly  to  relieve 
their  chafed  and  aching  shoulders.  They  ex- 
changed few  words  while  they  were  in  motion, 
for  one  soon  learns  to  conserve  his  forces  on  the 
trail,  but  when  they  lay  propped  against  their 
packs  they  talked. 

Phillips'  abundant  vigor  continued  to  evoke 
36 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

the  elder  man's  frank  admiration;  he  eyed  the 
boy  approvingly  and  plied  him  with  questions. 
Before  they  had  traveled  many  miles  he  had 
learned  what  there  was  to  learn,  for  Pierce  an- 
swered his  questions  frankly  and  told  him  about 
the  sacrifice  his  family  had  made  in  order  to  send 
him  North,  about  the  trip  itself,  about  his  landing 
at  Dyea,  and  all  the  rest.  When  he  came  to  the 
account  of  that  shell-game  the  grizzled  stranger 
smiled. 

"I've  lived  in  wide-open  countries  all  my  life," 
said  the  latter,  "but  this  beats  anything  I  ever  saw. 
WTiy,  the  crooks  outnumber  the  honest  men  and 
they're  running  things  to  suit  themselves.  One  of 
'em  tried  to  lay  me.  Me!"  He  chuckled  as  if 
the  mere  idea  was  fantastically  humorous.  "Have 
you  heard  about  this  Soapy  Smith?  He's  the 
boss,  the  bell-cow,  and  he's  made  himself  mayor 
of  Skagway.  Can  you  beat  it?  I'll  bet  some  of 
his  men  are  on  our  Citizens'  Committee  at  Sheep 
Camp.  They  need  a  lot  of  killing,  they  do,  and 
they'll  get  it.  What  did  vou  do  after  you  lost 
your  money?" 

"I  fell  in  with  two  brothers  and  went  to  pack- 
ing." 

"Went  partners  with  them?' 

"No,  they — "  Phillips'  face  clouded,  he  hesi- 
tated briefly.  "I  merely  lived  with  them  and 
helped  them  with  their  outfit  from  time  to  tune. 
We're  at  Sheep  Camp  now,  and  I  share  their  tent 
whenever  I'm  there.  I'm  about  ready  to  pull  out 

and  go  it  alone." 

37 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

il Right!  And  don't  hook  up  with  anybody." 
The  old  man  spoke  with  feeling.  "Look  at  me. 
I'm  nesting  with  a  dodo — darned  gray-whiskered 
milliner!  He's  so  ornery  I  have  to  hide  the  ax 
every  time  I  see  him.  I  just  yearn  to  put  him  out 
,of  his  misery,  but  I  dassent.  Of  course  he  has  his 
points — everybody  has;  he's  a  game  old  rooster 
#nd  he  loves  me.  That's  all  that  saves  him." 

Phillips  was  greatly  interested  to  learn  that  two 
men  so  unfitted  for  this  life,  this  country,  should 
have  essayed  the  hardships  of  the  Chilkoot  trail. 
It  amazed  him  to  learn  that  already  most  of  their 
outfit  was  at  Linderman. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  have  done  all 
the  packing  for  yourself  and  your  partner?"  he 
inquired. 

"N — no.  Old  Jeiry  totters  across  with  a  pack- 
age of  soda-crackers  once  in  a  while.  You  must 
have  heard  him;  he  creaks  like  a  gate.  Of  course 
she  eats  up  all  the  crackers  before  he  gets  to  linder- 
man  and  then  gorges  himself  on  the  heavy  grub 
that  I've  lugged  over,  but  in  spite  of  that  we've 
managed  to  make  pretty  good  time."  After  a 
moment  of  meditation  he  continued:  "Say!  You 
ought  to  see  that  old  buzzard  eat !  It's  disgusting, 
but  it's  interesting.  It  ain't  so  much  the  expense 
that  I  care  about  as  the  work.  Old  Jerry  ought 
to  be  in  an  institution — some  place  where  they've 
got  wheel-chairs  and  a  big  market-garden.  But 
he's  plumb  helpless,  so  I  can't  cut  him  loose  and 
let  him  bleach  his  bones  hi  a  strange  land.  I 

haven't  got  the  heart." 

38 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

They  were  resting  at  the  Long  Lake  outlet, 
some  time  later,  when  the  old  man  inquired: 

"I  presume  you've  got  a  camp  at  Linderman, 
eh?" 

"No.  I  have  some  blankets  cached  there  and 
I  sleep  out  whenever  I  can't  make  the  round 
trip." 

"Round  trip?  Round  trip  in  one  day?  Why, 
that's  thirty  miles!" 

"Real  miles,  too.  This  country  makes  a  man 
of  a  fellow.  I  wouldn't  mind  sleeping  out  if  I 
were  sure  of  a  hot  meal  once  in  a  while,  but  money 
is  no  good  this  side  of  the  Summit,  and  these 
people  won't  even  let  a  stranger  use  their  stoves." 

"You  can't  last  long  at  that,  my  boy." 

Phillips  smiled  cheerfully.  "I  don't  have  to 
last  much  longer.  I  sent  a  thousand  dollars  to 
Dyea  this  morning  by  Jim  McCaskey,  one  of  the 
fellows  I  live  with.  He's  going  to  put  it  in 
Healy  &  Wilson's  safe  for  me.  Now  all  I've  got 
to  do  is  to  earn  a  ton  of  grub  and  get  it  over 
before  snow  flies.  It  won't  take  long." 

"You  can  bunk  in  our  tent  as  long  as  we're 
here,"  the  other  man  volunteered.  "If  you  get 
across  hi  time  you  can  travel  hi  our  boat,  too. 
But  I'll  have  to  warn  you  about  Old  Jerry.  He's 
ornery.  Nature  was  cruel  when  she  introduced 
him  into  a  defenseless  world." 

"That's  the  second  kind  offer  I've  had  this 
morning,"  Pierce  said,  thoughtfully.  "A  big 
smiling  Canadian  made  the  first  one.  I  found  him 

singing  on  the  Summit.    He's  an  'old-timer'  and 

39 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

he's  altogether  different  to  us  tenderfeet.    He 
made  me  rather  ashamed  of  myself." 

The  elderly  man  nodded.  "Most  pioneers  are 
big-calibered.  I'm  a  sort  of  pioneer  myself,  but 
that  infernal  partner  of  mine  has  about  ruined 
my  disposition.  Take  it  by  and  large,  though,  it 
pays  a  man  to  be  accommodating." 


IT  AVING  crossed  the  high  barrens,  Phillips  and 
I  1  his  companion  dropped  down  to  timber-line 
and  soon  arrived  at  Linderman,  their  journey's  end. 
This  was  perhaps  the  most  feverishly  busy  camp 
on  the  entire  thirty-mile  Dyea  trail,  but,  unlike 
the  coast  towns,  there  was  no  merrymaking,  no 
gaiety,  no  gambling  here.  Linderman's  fever 
came  from  overwork,  not  from  overplay.  A  tent 
village  had  sprung  up  at  the  head  of  the  lake,  and 
from  dawn  until  dark  it  echoed  to  the  unceasing 
sound  of  ax  and  hammer,  of  plane  and  saw.  The 
air  was  redolent  with  the  odor  of  fresh-cut  spruce 
and  of  boiling  tar,  for  this  was  the  shipyard  where 
an  army  of  Jasons  hewed  and  joined  and  fitted, 
each  upon  a  bark  of  his  own  making.  Half-way 
down  the  lake  was  the  Boundary,  and  a  few 
miles  below  that  again  was  the  customs  station 
with  its  hateful  red-jacketed  police.  Beyond  were 
uncharted  waters,  quite  as  perilous,  because  quite 
as  unknown,  as  those  traversed  by  that  first  band 
of  Argonauts.  Deep  lakes,  dark  canons,  roaring 
rapids  lay  between  Linderman  and  the  land  of 
the  Golden  Fleece,  but  the  nearer  these  men  ap- 
proached those  dangers  the  more  eagerly  they 

pressed  on. 

41 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Already  the  weeding-out  process  had  gone  far 
and  the  citizens  of  Linderman  were  those  who 
had  survived  it.  The  weak  and  the  irresolute 
had  disappeared  long  since;  these  fellows  who 
labored  so  mightily  to  forestall  the  coming  winter 
were  the  strong  and  the  fit  and  the  enduring— 
the  kind  the  North  takes  to  herself. 

In  spite  of  his  light  pack,  Phillips'  elderly  trail- 
mate  was  all  but  spent.  He  dragged  his  feet,  he 
stumbled  without  reason,  the  lines  in  his  face 
were  deeply  set,  and  his  bearded  lips  had  retreated 
from  his  teeth  in  a  grin  of  exhaustion. 

"Yonder's  the  tent,"  he  said,  finally,  and  his 
tone  was  eloquent  of  relief. 

In  and  out  among  canvas  walls  and  taut  guy- 
ropes  the  travelers  wound  their  way,  emerging  at 
length  upon  a  gravelly  beach  where  vast  supplies 
of  provisions  were  cached.  All  about,  in  various 
stages  of  construction,  were  skeletons  of  skiffs,  of 
scows,  and  of  barges;  the  ground  was  spread  with 
a  carpet  of  shavings  and  sawdust. 

Pierce's  companion  paused;  then,  after  an  in- 
credulous stare,  he  said:  "Look!  Is  that  smoke 
coming  from  my  stovepipe?" 

"Why,  yes!"" 

There  could  be  no  mistake  about  it;  from  the 
tent  in  question  arose  the  plain  evidence  that  a 
lively  fire  was  burning  inside. 

"Well,  I'll  be  darned!"  breathed  the  elder  man. 
"Somebody's  jumped  the  cache." 

"Perhaps  your  partner — " 

' '  He's  in  Sheep  Camp. ' '    The  speaker  laborious- 

42 


THE   WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

ly  loosened  his  pack  and  let  it  fall,  then  with  stiff, 
clumsy  fingers  he  undid  the  top  buttons  of  his 
vest  and,  to  Pierce' s  amazement,  produced  a  large- 
calibered  revolver,  which  he  mechanically  cocked 
and  uncocked  several  times,  the  while  his  eyes 
remained  hypnotically  fixed  upon  the  telltale 
streamer  of  smoke.  Not  only  cUd  his  action  ap- 
pear to  be  totally  uncalled  for,  but  he  himself 
had  undergone  a  startling  transformation  and 
Phillips  was  impelled  to  remonstrate. 

"Here!    What  the  deuce—?"  he  began. 

"Listen  to  me !"  The  old  man  spoke  in  a  queer, 
suppressed  tone,  and  his  eyes,  when  he  turned 
them  upon  his  fellow-packer,  were  even  smokier 
than  usual.  "Somebody's  up  to  a  little  thievin', 
most  likely,  and  it  looks  like  I  had  'em  red-handed. 
I've  been  layin'  for  this!" 

Pierce  divested  himself  of  his  pack-harness,  then 
said,  simply,  "If  that's  the  case,  I'll  give  you  a 
hand." 

"Better  stand  back,"  the  other  cautioned  him. 
"I  don't  need  any  help — this  is  my  line."  The 
man's  fatigue  had  fallen  from  him;  of  a  sudden 
he  had  become  surprisingly  alert  and  forceful. 
He  stole  forward,  making  as  little  noise  as  possible, 
and  Phillips  followed  at  his  back.  They  came  to 
a  pause  within  arm'e-length  of  the  teait  flaps,  which 
they  noted  were  securely  tied. 

"Hello  inside!"  The  owner  spoke  suddenly 
and  with  his  free  hand  he  jerked  at  one  of  the 
knots. 

There  came  an  answering  exclamation,  a  move- 

4  43 


THE  WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

ment;  then  the  flaps  were  seized  and  firmly 
held. 

"You  can't  come  in!"  cried  a  voice. 

"Let  go!  Quick!"  The  old  man's  voice  was 
harsh. 

' '  You'll  have  to  wait  a  minute.    I'm  undressed. ' ' 

Phillips  retreated  a  step,  as  did  the  other  man; 
they  stared  at  each  other. 

"A  woman!"  Pierce  breathed. 

"Lord!"  The  owner  of  the  premises  slowly, 
reluctantly  sheathed  his  weapon  under  his  left 
arm. 

"I  invited  myself  in,"  the  voice  explained-— it 
was  a  deep-pitched  contralto  voice.  "I  was  wet 
and  nobody  offered  to  let  me  dry  out,  so  I  took 
possession  of  the  first  empty  tent  I  came  to. 
Is  it  yours?" 

"It  is — half  of  it.  I'm  mighty  tired  and  I  ain't 
particular  how  you  look,  so  hurry  up."  As  the 
two  men  returned  for  then*  loads  the  speaker  went 
on,  irritably.  "She's  got  her  nerve!  I  s'pose 
she's  one  of  these  actresses.  There's  a  bunch  of 
'em  on  the  trail.  Actresses!"  He  snorted  de- 
risively. "I  bet  she  smells  of  cologne,  and,  gosh! 
how  I  hate  it!" 

When  he  and  Pierce  returned  they  were  ad- 
mitted promptly  enough,  and  any  lingering  sus- 
picions of  the  trespasser's  intent  were  instantly 
dissipated.  The  woman  was  clad  in  a  short, 
damp  underskirt  which  fell  about  to  her  knees; 
she  had  drawn  on  the  only  dry  article  of  apparel 
in  sight,  a  man's  sweater  jacket;  she  had  thrust 

44 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

her  bare  feet  into  a  pair  of  beaded  moccasins; 
on  a  line  attached  to  the  ridgepole  over  her  head 
sundry  outer  garments  were  steaming.  Phillips' 
first  thought  was  that  this  woman  possessed  the 
fairest,  the  whitest,  skin  he  had  ever  seen;  it  was 
like  milk.  But  his  first  impressions  were  con- 
fused, for  embarrassment  followed  quickly  upon 
his  entrance  and  he  felt  an  impulse  to  withdraw. 
The  trespasser  was  not  at  all  the  sort  of  person  he 
had  expected  to  find,  and  her  complete  self- 
possession  at  the  intrusion,  her  dignified  greeting, 
left  him  not  a  little  chagrined  at  his  rudeness. 
She  eyed  both  men  coolly  from  a  pair  of  ice-blue 
eyes — eyes  that  bespoke  her  nationality  quite  as 
plainly  as  did  her  features,  her  dazzling  com- 
plexion, and  her  head  of  fine,  straight  flaxen  hair. 
She  was  Scandinavian,  she  was  a  Norsewoman; 
lhat  much  was  instantly  apparent.  She  appeared 
to  derive  a  certain  malicious  pleasure  now  from 
the  consternation  her  appearance  evoked;  there 
was  a  hint  of  contempt,  of  defiance,  in  her  smile. 
In  a  voice  so  low-pitched  that  its  quality  alone 
saved  it  from  masculinity,  she  said: 

"Pray  don't  be  distressed;  you  merely  startled 
me,  that's  all.  My  Indians  managed  to  get  hold 
of  some  hootch  at  Tagish  and  upset  our  canoe 
just  below  here.  It  was  windy  and  of  course 
they  couldn't  swim — none  of  them  can,  you  know 
— so  I  had  hard  work  to  save  them.  I've  already 
explained  how  I  happened  to  select  this  particular 
refuge.  Your  neighbors — "  her  lip  curled  dis- 
dainfully, then  she  shrugged.  "Well,  I  never  got 

45 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

such  a  reception  as  they  gave  me,  but  I  suppose 
they're  cheechakos.  I'll  be  off  for  Dyea  early  in 
the  morning.  If  you  can  put  me  up  for  the  night 
I'll  pay  you  well." 

During  this  speech,  delivered  in  a  matter-of- 
fact,  business-like  tone,  the  owner  of  the  tent  had 
managed  to  overcome  his  first  surprise;  he  re- 
moved his  hat  now  and  began  with  an  effort: 

"I'm  a  bad  hand  at  begging  pardons,  miss,  but 
you  see  I've  been  suffering  the  pangs  of  bereave- 
ment lately  over  some  dear,  departed  grub.  I 
thought  you  were  a  thief  and  I  looked  forward  to 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  dance.  I  apologize. 
Would  you  mind  telling  me  where  you  came 
from?"  " 

' '  From  Dawson. ' '  There  was  a  silence  the  while 
the  flaxen-haired  woman  eyed  her  interrogator 
less  disdainfully.  ' '  Yes,  by  poling-boat  and  birch- 
bark.  I'm  not  fleeing  the  law;  I'm  not  a  cache- 
robber." 

"'You're— all  alone?" 

The  woman  nodded.  "  Can  you  stow  me  away 
for  the  night?  You  may  name  your  own  price." 

"The  price  won't  cripple  you.  I'm  sorry  there 
ain't  some  more  women  here  at  Landerman,  but 
— there  ain't.  We  had  one — a  doctor's  wife,  but 
she's  gone." 

"I  met  her  at  Lake  Marsh." 

"We've  a  lot  more  coming,  but  they're  not  here. 
My  name  is  Ldnton.  The  more-or-less  Christian 
prefix  thereto  is  Tom.  I've  got  a  partner  named 
Jerry.  Put  the  two  together,  and  drink  hearty. 

46 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

This  young  man  is  Mr. — "  The  speaker  turned 
questioningly  upon  Phillips,  who  made  himself 
known.  "I'm  a  family  man.  Mr.  Phillips  is  a — 
well,  he's  a  good  packer.  That's  all  I  know  about 
him.  I'm  safe  and  sane,  but  he's  about  the  right 
age  to  propose  marriage  to  you  as  soon  as  he  gets 
his  breath.  A  pretty  woman  in  this  country  has 
to  expect  that,  as  you  probably  know." 

The  woman  smiled  and  shook  hands  with  both 
men,  exchanging  a  grip  as  firm  and  as  strong  as 
theirs.  "I  am  the  Countess  Courteau,"  said  she. 

"The  —  which?"  Mr.  linton  queried,  with  a 
start. 

The  Countess  laughed  frankly.  "It  is  French, 
but  I'm  a  Dane.  I  think  my  husband  bought  the 
title — they're  cheap  in  his  country  He  was  a 
poor  sort  of  count,  and  I'm  a  poor  sort  OA  c  ..v.ntess. 
But  I'm  a  good  cook — a  very  good  cook  me 
and  if  you'll  excuse  my  looks  and  permit  me  co 
wear  your  sweater  I'll  prepare  supper." 

Lin  ton's  eyes  twinkled  as  he  said,  "I've  never 
et  with  the  nobility  and  I  don't  know  as  I'd  like 
their  diet,  for  a  steady  thing,  but — the  baking- 
powder  is  in  that  box  and  we  fry  with  bacon 
grease." 

Wood  and  water  were  handy,  the  Countess 
Courteau  had  a  quick  and  capable  way,  there- 
fore supper  was  not  long  delayed.  The  tent  was 
not  equipped  for  housekeeping,  hence  the  diners 
held  their  plates  in  their  laps  and  either  harpooned 
their  food  from  the  frying-pan  or  ladled  it  from 
tin  cans,  but  even  so  it  had  a  flavor  to-night  so 

47 


THE   WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

unaccustomed,  so  different,  that  both  men  grasped 
the  poignant  fact  that  the  culinary  art  is  mys- 
teriously wedded  to  female  hands.  Mr.  Linton 
voiced  this  thought  in  his  own  manner. 

"If  a  countess  cooks  like  this,"  he  observed, 
"I'd  sure  love  to  board  with  a  duke."  Later, 
while  the  dishes  were  being  washed  and  when  his 
visitor  had  shown  no  intention  of  explaining  her 
presence  in  further  detail,  he  said,  whimsically: 
"See  here,  ma'am,  our  young  friend  has  been 
watching  you  like  he  was  afraid  you'd  disappear 
before  he  gets  an  eyeful,  and  it's  plain  to  be  seen 
that  he's  devoured  by  curiosity.  As  for  me,  I'm 
totally  lacking  in  that  miserable  trait,  and  I  ab- 
hor it  in  others;  but  all  the  same,  if  you  don't 
see  fit  to  tell  us  pretty  quick  how  you  came  to 
pole  up  from  Dawson  and  what  in  Heaven's  name 
a  woman  like  you  is  doing  here,  a  lone  and  without 
benefit  of  chaperon,  I  shall  pass  away  in  dreadful 
agony." 

"It's  very  simple,"  the  Countess  told  him.  "I 
have  important  business  'outside.'  I  couldn't 
go  down  the  river,  for  the  Yukon  is  low,  the 
steamers  are  aground  on  the  flats,  and  connec- 
tions at  St.  Michael's  are  uncertain  at  best. 
Naturally  I  came  up  against  the  stream.  I've 
been  working  'up-stream'  all  my  life."  She 
flashed  him  a  smile  at  this  latter  statement.  "As 
for  a  chaperon — I've  never  felt  the  need  of  one. 
Do  you  think  they're  necessary  in  this  country?" 

"Does  your  husband,  Count — " 

"My    husband    doesn't    count.      That's    the 

48 


THE   WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

trouble."  The  speaker  laughed  again  and  with- 
out the  faintest  trace  of  embarrassment.  "He 
has  been  out  of  the  picture  for  years."  She  turned 
to  Phillips  and  inquired,  abruptly,  "What  is  the 
packing  price  to  Sheep  Camp?" 

"Fifty  cents  a  pound,  coming  this  way.  Going 
back  it  is  nothing,"  he  told  her,  gallantly. 

"I  haven't  much  to  carry,  but  if  you'll  take  it 
I'll  pay  you  the  regular  price.  I'd  like  to  leave 
at  daylight." 

"You  seem  to  be  in  a  rush,"  Mr.  Linton  haz- 
arded, mildly. 

"I  am.  Now,  then,  if  you  don't  mind  I'll  turn 
in,  for  I  must  be  in  Dyea  to-morrow  night." 

Pierce  Phillips  had  said  little  during  the  meal 
or  thereafter,  to  be  sure,  nevertheless,  he  had 
thought  much.  He  had  indeed  used  his  eyes 
to  good  purpose,  and  now  he  regretted  exceed- 
ingly that  the  evening  promised  to  be  so  short. 
The  more  he  saw  of  this  unconventional  countess 
the  more  she  intrigued  his  interest.  She  was 
the  most  unusual  woman  he  had  ever  met  and 
he  was  eager  to  learn  all  about  her.  His  knowledge 
of  women  was  peculiarly  elemental;  his  acquaint- 
ance with  the  sex  was  extremely  limited.  Those 
he  had  known  in  his  home  town  were  one  kind, 
a  familiar  kind;  those  he  had  encountered  since 
leaving  home  were,  for  the  most  part,  of  a  totally 
different  class  and  of  a  type  that  awoke  his  dis- 
approval. To  a  youth  of  his  training  and  of  his 
worldly  experience  the  genus  woman  is  divided 
into  two  species — old  women  and  young  women. 

40 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

The  former  are  interesting  only  in  a  motherly 
way,  and  demand  nothing  more  than  abstract 
courtesy.  They  do  not  matter.  The  latter,  on 
the  contrary,  separate  themselves  again  into  two 
families  or  suborders — viz.,  good  women  and  bad 
women.  The  demarcation  between  the  two 
branches  of  the  suborder  is  distinct;  there  is 
nothing  common  to  the  two.  Good  women  are 
good  through  and  through — bad  ones  are  likewise 
thoroughly  bad.  There  are  no  intermediate 
types,  no  troublesome  variations,  no  hybrids  nor 
crosses. 

The  Countess  Courteau,  it  seemed  to  him,  was 
a  unique  specimen  and  extremely  hard  to  classify, 
in  that  she  was  neither  old  nor  young — or,  what 
was  even  more  puzzling,  in  that  she  was  both. 
In  years  she  was  not  far  advanced — little  older 
than  he,  in  fact — but  in  experience,  in  wisdom, 
in  self-reliance  she  was  vastly  his  superior;  and 
experience,  he  believed,  is  what  makes  women 
old.  As  to  the  family,  the  suborder  to  which 
she  belonged,  he  was  at  an  utter  loss  to  decide. 
For  instance,  she  accepted  her  present  situation 
with  a  sang-froid  equaling  that  of  a  camp  harpy, 
a  few  of  whom  Pierce  had  seen;  then,  too,  she 
was,  or  had  been,  married  to  a  no-account  for- 
eigner to  whom  she  referred  with  a  calloused 
and  most  unwifely  flippancy;  moreover,  she  bore 
herself  with  a  freedom,  a  boldness,  quite  irrecon- 
cilable to  the  modesty  of  so-called  "good  women." 
Those  facts  were  enough  to  classify  her  definitely, 
and  yet  despite  them  she  was  anything  but 

50 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

common,  and  it  would  have  taken  rare  courage 
indeed  to  transgress  that  indefinable  barrier  of 
decorum  with  which  she  managed  to  surround 
herself.  There  was  something  about  her  as  cold 
and  as  pure  as  blue  ice,  and  she  gave  the  same 
impression  of  crystal  clarity.  All  in  all,  hers 
was  a  baffling  personality  and  Phillips  fell  asleep 
with  the  riddle  of  it  unanswered.  He  awoke  hi 
the  morning  with  it  still  upon  his  mind. 

The  Countess  Courteau  had  been  first  to  arise; 
she  was  fully  dressed  and  the  sheet-iron  stove  was 
glowing  when  her  companions  roused  themselves. 
By  the  time  they  had  returned  from  the  lake  she 
had  breakfast  ready. 

"Old  Jerry  is  going  to  be  awful  sore  at  missing 
this  court  function,"  Mr.  Linton  told  her  during 
the  meal.  "He's  a  great  ladies'  man,  Old  Jerry 
is." 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  meet  him." 

"You  wouldn't  like  him  if  you  did;  nobody 
likes  him,  except  me,  and  I  hate  him."  Linton 
sighed.  "He's  a  handicap  to  a  young  man  like 


"Why  don't  you  send  him  home?" 

"Home?  Old  Jerry  would  die  before  he'd  turn 
back.  He'd  lift  his  muzzle  and  bay  at  the  very 
idea  until  some  stranger  terminated  him.  Well, 
he's  my  cross;  I  s'pose  I've  got  to  bear  him." 

"Who  is  Mr.  Linton?"  the  Countess  inquired, 
as  she  and  Pierce  left  the  village  behind  them. 

"Just  an  ordinary  stampeder,  like  the  rest  of 
US,  I  think," 

51 


THE   WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

"He's  more  than  that.  He's  the  kind  who'll 
go  through  and  make  good.  I  dare  say  his 
partner  is  just  like  him." 

Phillips  approved  of  the  Countess  Courteau 
this  morning  even  more  thoroughly  than  he  had 
on  the  evening  previous,  and  they  had  not 
walked  far  before  he  realized  that  as  a  traveler 
she  was  the  equal  of  him  or  of  any  man.  She 
was  lithe  and  strong  and  light  of  foot;  the  way 
she  covered  ground  awoke  his  sincere  admiration. 
She  did  not  trouble  to  talk  much  and  she  dispensed 
with  small  talk  hi  others;  she  appeared  to  be 
absorbed  in  her  own  affairs,  and  only  when  they 
rested  did  she  engage  in  conversation.  The  more 
Phillips  studied  her  and  the  better  acquainted  he 
became  with  her  the  larger  proportions  did  she 
assume.  Not  only  was  she  completely  mistress 
of  herself,  but  she  had  a  forceful,  compelling  way 
with  others;  there  was  a  natural  air  of  authority 
about  her,  and  she  managed  in  some  subtle  manner 
to  invest  herself  and  her  words  with  importance. 
She  was  quite  remarkable. 

Now,  the  trail  breeds  its  own  peculiar  intimacy  ; 
although  the  two  talked  little,  they  nevertheless 
got  to  know  each  other  quite  well,  and  when  they 
reached  the  Summit,  about  midday,  Phillips  felt  a 
keen  regret  that  their  journey  was  so  near  its  end. 

A  mist  was  drifting  up  from  the  sea;  it  ob- 
scured the  valley  below  and  clung  to  the  peaks 
like  ragged  garments.  Up  and  out  of  this  fog 
came  the  interminable  procession  of  burden- 
bearers.  The  Countess  paused  to  observe  tHm 

52 


THE   WINDS    OF   CHANCE 

and  to  survey  the  accumulation  of  stores  which 
crowned  the  watershed. 

"I  didn't  dream  so  many  were  coming,"  said 
she. 

"It's  getting  worse  daily,"  Pierce  told  her. 
"Dyea  is  jammed,  and  so  is  Skagway.  The  trails 
are  alive  with  men." 

"How  many  do  you  think  will  come?" 

"There's  no  telling.  Twenty,  thirty,  fifty 
thousand,  perhaps.  About  half  of  them  turn  back 
when  they  see  the  Chilkoot." 

"And  the  rest  will  wish  they  had.  It's  a  hard 
country;  not  one  in  a  hundred  will  prosper." 

They  picked  their  way  down  the  drunken 
descent  to  the  Scales,  then  breasted  the  sluggish 
human  current  to  Sheep  Camp. 

A  group  of  men  were  reading  a  notice  newly 
posted  upon  the  wall  of  the  log  building  which 
served  as  restaurant  and  hotel,  and  after  scanning 
it  Pierce  explained: 

"It's  another  call  for  a  miners'  meeting.  We're 
having  quite  a  time  with  cache-robbers.  If  we 
catch  them  we'll  hang  them." 

The  Countess  nodded.  "Right!  They  deserve 
it.  You  know  we  don't  have  any  stealing  on  the 
'inside.'  Now,  then,  I'll  say  good-by."  She 
paid  Pierce  and  extended  her  hand  to  him. 
"  Thank  you  for  helping  me  across.  I'll  be  in 
Dyea  by  dark." 

"I  hope  we'll  meet  again,"  he  said,  with  a  slight 
flush. 

The  woman  favored  him  with  one  of  her  gen- 

53 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

erous,  friendly  smiles.  "1  hope  so,  too.  You're  a 
nice  boy.  I  like  you."  Then  she  stepped  into 
the  building  and  was  gone. 

"A  nice  boy!"  Phillips  was  pained.  A  boy! 
And  he  the  sturdiest  packer  on  the  pass,  with 
perhaps  one  exception!  That  was  hardly  just 
to  him.  If  they  did  meet  again — and  he  vowed 
they  would — he'd  show  her  he  was  more  than  a 
boy.  He  experienced  a  keen  desire  to  appear  well 
in  her  eyes,  to  appear  mature  and  forceful.  He 
asked  himself  what  kind  of  man  Count  Court-can 
could  be;  he  wondered  if  he,  Pierce  Phillips, 
could  fall  in  love  with  such  a  woman  as  this,  an 
older  woman,  a  woman  who  had  been  married. 
It  would  be  queer  to  marry  a  countess,  he 
reflected. 

As  he  walked  toward  his  temporary  home  he 
beheld  quite  a  gathering  of  citizens,  and  paused 
long  enough  to  note  that  they  were  being  ha- 
rangued by  the  confidence-man  who  had  first 
initiated  him  into  the  subtleties  of  the  three- 
shell  game.  Mr.  Broad  had  climbed  upon  a 
raised  tent  platform  and  was  presenting  an  ear- 
nest argument  against  capital  punishment.  Two 
strangers  upon  the  fringe  of  the  crowd  were  talk- 
ing, and  Pierce  heard  one  of  them  say: 

"Of  course  he  wants  the  law  to  take  its  course, 
inasmuch  as  there  isn't  any  law.  He's  one  of  the 
gang." 

"The  surest  way  to  flush  a  covey  of  crooks  is 
to  whistle  for  old  Judge  Lynch,"  the  other  man 
agreed.  "Listen  to  him!" 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Have  they  caught  the  cache-robbers?"  Phillips 
made  bold  to  inquire. 

"No,  and  they  won't  catch  them,  with  fellows 
like  that  on  the  committee.  The  crooks  hang 
together  and  we  don't.  If  I  had  my  way  that's 
just  what  they'd  do — hang  together.  I'd  start 
in  by  bending  a  limb  over  that  rascal." 

Phillips  had  attended  several  of  these  indigna- 
tion meetings  and,  remembering  that  all  of  them 
bad  proved  purposeless,  he  went  on  toward  the 
McCaskey  brothers'  tent.  He  and  the  McCas- 
keys  were  not  the  closest  of  friends,  hi  spite  of 
the  fact  that  they  had  done  him  a  favor — a 
favor,  by  the  way.  for  which  he  had  paid  many 
times  over — nevertheless,  they  were  his  most  in- 
timate acquaintances  and  he  felt  an  urgent  desire 
to  tell  them  about  his  unusual  experience.  His 
desire  to  talk  about  the  Countess  Courteau  was 
irresistible. 

But  when  he  entered  the  tent  his  greeting  fell 
flat,  for  Joe,  the  elder  McCaskey,  addressed  him 
sharply,  almost  accusingly: 

"Say,  it's  about  time  you  showed  up!" 

"What's  the  matter?"  Pierce  saw  that  the 
other  brother  was  stretched  out  in  his  blankets 
and  that  his  head  was  bandaged.  "Hello!"  he 
cried.  "What  ails  Jim?  Is  he  sick?" 

"Sick?  Worse  than  sick,"  Joe  grumbled. 
"That  money  of  yours  is  to  blame  for  it.  It's 
a  wonder  he  isn't  dead." 

"My  money?  How?"  Phillips  was  both 
mystified  and  alarmed. 

55 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Jim  raised  himself  in  his  blankets  and  said, 
irritably:  "After  this  you  can  run  your  own 
pay-car,  kid.  I'm  through,  d'you  hear?" 

"  Speak  out.    What's  wrong?" 

"Jim  was  stuck  up,  that's  what's  wrong. 
That's  enough,  isn't  it?  They  bent  a  six-gun 
over  his  head  and  grabbed  your  com.  He's  got 
a  dent  in  his  crust  the  size  of  a  saucer!" 

Phillips'  face  whitened  slowly.  "My  money! 
Robbed!"  he  gasped.  "Jim!  Who  did  it?  How 
could  you  let  them?" 

The  younger  McCaskey  fell  back  weakly;  he 
waved  a  feeble  gesture  at  his  brother.  "Joe  '11 
tell  you.  I'm  dizzy;  my  head  ain't  right  yet." 

"A  stranger  stopped  him — asked  him  something 
or  other — and  another  guy  flattened  him  from 
behind.  That's  all  he  remembers.  When  he 
came  to  he  found  he'd  been  frisked.  He  was  still 
dippy  when  he  got  home,  so  I  put  him  to  bed. 
He  got  up  and  moved  around  a  bit  this  morning, 
but  he's  wrong  in  his  head." 

Phillips  seated  himself  upon  a  candle-box. 
"Robbed!"  he  exclaimed,  weakly.  "Broke — 
again!  Gee!  That  was  hard  money!  It  was  the 
first  I  ever  earned!" 

Joe  McCaskey's  dark  face  was  doubly  un- 
pleasant as  he  frowned  down  upon  the  youth. 
"Thinking  about  nothing  except  your  coin,  eh? 
Why  don't  you  think  about  Jim?  He  did  you  a 
favor  and  'most  lost  his  life." 

"Oh,  I'm  sorry — of  course!"  Phillips  rose 
heavily  and  crossed  to  the  bed.  "I  didn't  mean 

56 


THE  WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

to  appear  selfish.  I  don't  blame  you,  Jim.  I'll 
get  a  doctor  for  you,  then  you  must  describe  the 
hold-ups.  Give  me  a  hint  who  they  are  and 
I'll  go  after  them." 

The  younger  brother  rolled  his  head  in  nega- 
tion and  mumbled,  sullenly:  "I'm  all  right.  I 
don't  want  a  doctor." 

Joe  explained  for  him:  "He  never  saw  the  fel- 
lows before  and  he  don't  seem  to  remember  much 
about  them.  That's  natural  enough.  Your 
money's  gone  clean,  kid,  and  a  yelp  won't  get 
you  anything.  The  crooks  are  organized  and  if 
you  set  up  a  holler  they'll  get  all  of  us.  They'll 
alibi  anybody  you  accuse — it's  no  trick  to  alibi 
a  pal — " 

"Isn't  it?"  The  question  was  uttered  unex- 
pectedly; it  came  from  the  front  of  the  tent  and 
startled  the  occupants  thereof,  who  turned  to  be- 
hold a  stranger  just  entering  their  premises.  He 
was  an  elderly  man ;  he  possessed  a  quick,  shrewd 
eye;  he  had  poked  the  tent  flap  aside  with  the 
barrel  of  a  Colt's  revolver.  Through  the  door- 
opening  could  be  seen  other  faces  and  the  bodies 
of  other  men  who  had  likewise  stolen  up  unheard. 
During  the  moment  of  amazement  following  his 
first  words  these  other  men  crowded  in  behind 
him. 

"Maybe  it  '11  be  more  of  a  trick  than  you 
figure  on."  The  stranger's  gray  mustache  lifted 
in  a  grin  that  was  not  at  all  friendly. 

"What  the  blazes—?"  Joe  McCaskey  ex- 
ploded. 

57 


"Go  easy!"  the  intruder  cautioned  him. 
"We've  been  laying  around,  waiting  for  your  pal 
to  get  back."  With  a  movement  of  the  revolver 
muzzle  he  indicated  Phillips.  ' '  Now  then,  stretch ! 
On  your  toes  and  reach  high.  You  there,  get  up ! ' ' 
He  addressed  himself  to  Jim,  who  rose  from  his 
bed  and  thrust  his  hands  over  his  bandaged 
head.  " That's  nice!"  the  stranger  nodded  ap- 
provingly. "Now  don't  startle  me;  don't  make 
any  quick  moves  or  I  may  tremble  this  gun  off- 
she's  easy  on  the  trigger."  To  his  friends  he 
called,  "Come  in,  gentlemen;  they're  gentle." 

There  were  four  of  the  latter;  they  appeared  to 
be  substantial  men,  men  of  determination.  All 
were  armed. 

Pierce  Phillips'  amazement  gave  way  to  indig- 
nation. "What  is  this,  an  arrest  or  a  hold-up?" 
he  inquired. 

"It's  right  smart  of  both,"  the  leader  of  the 
posse  drawled,  hi  a  voice  which  betrayed  the  fact 
that  he  hailed  from  somewhere  in  the  far  South- 
west. "We're  in  quest  of  a  bag  of  rice — a  bag 
with  a  rip  in  it  and  *W.  K.'  on  the  side.  While 
I  slap  your  pockets,  just  to  see  if  you're  ironed, 
these  gentlemen  are  goin'  to  look  over  your 
outfit." 

"This  is  an  outrage!"  Jim  McCaskey  com- 
plained. "I'm  just  getting  over  one  stick-up. 
I'm  a  sick  man." 

"Sure!"  his  brother  exclaimed,  furiously. 
" You're  a  pack  of  fools!  What  d'you  want, 
anyhow?" 


THE   WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

"We  want  you  to  shut  up!  See  that  you  do." 
The  old  man's  eyes  snapped.  "If  you've  got 
to  say  something,  tell  us  how  there  happens  to 
be  a  trail  of  rice  from  this  man's  cache" — he  indi- 
cated one  of  his  companions — "right  up  to  your 
tent." 

The  McCaskeys  exchanged  glances.  Phillips 
turned  a  startled  face  upon  them. 

"It  isn't  much  of  a  trail,  but  it's  enough  to 
follow." 

For  a  few  moments  nothing  was  said,  and 
meanwhile  the  search  of  the  tent  went  on.  When 
Pierce  could  no  longer  remain  silent  he  broke 
out: 

"There's  some  mistake.  These  boys  packed 
this  grub  from  Dyea  and  I  helped  with  some 
of  it." 

"Aren't  you  partners?"  some  one  inquired. 

Joe  McCaskey  answered  this  question.  "No. 
He  landed  broke.  We  felt  sorry  for  him  and 
took  him  hi." 

Joe  was  interrupted  by  an  exclamation  from 
one  of  the  searchers.  "Here  it  is!"  said  the  man. 
He  had  unearthed  a  bulging  canvas  sack  which 
he  flung  down  for  inspection.  "There's  my 
mark,  'W.  K.,'  and  there's  the  rip.  I  knew  we 
had  'em  right!" 

After  a  brief  examination  the  leader  of  the  posse 
turned  to  his  prisoners,  whose  hands  were  still 
held  high,  saying: 

"Anything  you  can  think  of  in  the  way  of  ex- 
planations you'd  better  save  for  the  miners' 
5  59 


THE  WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

meeting.  It's  waitin'  to  welcome  you.  We'll 
put  a  guard  over  this  plunder  till  the  rest  of  it  is 
identified.  Now,  then,  fall  hi  line  and  don't 
crowd.  After  you,  gentlemen." 

Pierce  Phillips  realized  that  it  was  useless  to 
argue,  for  his  words  would  not  be  listened  to, 
therefore  he  followed  the  McCaskeys  out  into  the 
open  air.  The  odium  of  this  accusation  was  hard 
to  bear;  he  bitterly  resented  his  situation  and 
something  told  him  he  would  have  to  fight  to  clear 
himself;  nevertheless,  he  was  not  seriously  con- 
cerned over  the  outcome.  Public  feeling  was 
high,  to  be  sure;  the  men  of  Sheep  Camp  were  in 
a  dangerous  frame  of  mind  and  their  actions  were 
liable  to  be  hasty,  ill-considered — their  verdict 
was  apt  to  be  fantastic — but,  secure  in  the  knowl- 
edge of  his  innocence,  Pierce  felt  no  apprehension. 
Rather  he  experienced  a  thrill  of  excitement  at  the 
contretemps  and  at  the  ordeal  which  he  knew  was 
forthcoming. 

The  Countess  Courteau  had  called  him  a  boy. 
This  wasn't  a  boy's  business;  this  was  a  real 
man-sized  adventure. 

"Gee!  WTiat  a  day  this  has  been!"  he  said  to 
himself. 


CHAPTER  IV 

'"FHE  story  of  the  first  trial  at  Sheep  Camp  is  an 
A  old  one,  but  it  differs  with  every  telling.  In 
the  hectic  hurry  of  that  gold-rush  many  incidents 
were  soon  forgotten  and  such  salient  facts  as  did 
survive  were  deeply  colored,  for  those  were  color- 
ful days.  That  trial  marked  an  epoch  in  early 
Yukon  history,  for,  although  its  true  significance 
was  unsensed  at  the  time,  it  really  signalized  the 
dawn  of  common  honesty  on  the  Chilkoot  and 
the  Chilkat  trails,  and  it  was  the  first  move 
taken  toward  the  disruption  of  organized  out- 
lawry— a  bitter  fight,  by  the  way,  which  ended 
only  in  the  tragic  death  of  Soapy  Smith  and  the 
flight  of  his  notorious  henchmen.  Although  the 
circumstances  of  the  Sheep  Camp  demonstration 
now  seem  shocking,  they  did  not  seem  so  at  the 
time,  and  they  served  a  larger  purpose  than  was 
at  first  apparent;  not  only  did  theft  become  an 
unprofitable  and  an  uninteresting  occupation 
thereafter,  but  also  the  men  who  shaped  a  code 
and  drew  first  blood  hi  defense  of  it  experienced 
a  beneficial  reaction  and  learned  to  fit  the  punish- 
ment to  the  crime — no  easy  lesson  to  learn  where 

life  runs  hot  and  where  might  is  right. 

61 


THE   WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

The  meeting  was  in  session  and  it  had  been 
harangued  into  a  dangerous  frame  of  mind  when 
Pierce  Phillips  and  the  two  McCaskeys  were  led 
before  it.  A  statement  by  the  leader  of  the 
posse,  corroborated  by  the  owner  of  the  missing 
sack  of  rice,  roused  the  audience  to  a  fury.  Even 
while  these  stories  were  being  told  there  came 
other  men  who  had  identified  property  of  theirs 
among  the  provision  piles  inside  the  McCaskey 
tent,  and  when  they,  too,  had  made  their  reports 
the  crowd  began  to  mill;  there  were  demands  for 
a  speedy  trial  and  a  swift  vengeance. 

These  demands  found  loudest  echo  among  the 
outlaw  element  for  which  Lucky  Broad  had  acted 
as  mouthpiece.  Although  the  members  of  that 
band  were  unknown — as  a  matter  of  fact,  no  man 
knew  his  neighbor — nevertheless  it  was  plain  that 
there  was  an  organization  of  crooks  and  that  a 
strong  bond  of  understanding  existed  between 
them.  Now,  inasmuch  as  the  eye  of  suspicion 
had  been  turned  away  from  them,  now  that  a 
herring  had  been  dragged  across  the  trail,  their 
obstructive  tactics  ended  and  they,  too,  became 
noisy  in  then*  clamor  that  justice  be  done. 

The  meeting  was  quickly  organized  along  for- 
mal lines  and  a  committee  of  three  was  appointed 
to  conduct  the  hearing.  The  chairman  of  this 
committee — he  constituted  himself  chairman  by 
virtue  of  the  fact  that  he  was  first  nominated 
— made  a  ringing  speech  in  which  he  praised  his 
honesty,  his  fairness,  and  his  knowledge  of  the 

law.     He    complimented    the    miners    for    their 

62 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

acumen  in  selecting  for  such  a  position  of  respon- 
sibility a  man  of  his  distinguished  qualifications. 
It  was  plain  that  he  believed  they  had  chosen 
wisely.  Then,  having  inquired  the  names  of  his 
two  committeemen,  he  likewise  commended  them 
in  glowing  terms,  although  of  course  he  could 
not  praise  them  quite  as  unstintedly  as  he  had 
praised  himself.  Still,  he  spoke  well  of  them  and 
concluded  by  stating  that  so  long  as  affairs  were 
left  in  his  hands  justice  would  be  safeguarded  and 
the  rights  of  this  miserable,  cringing  trio  of  thieves 
would  be  protected,  albeit  killing,  in  his  judgment, 
was  too  mild  a  punishment  for  people  of  their 
caliber. 

"Hear!    Hear!"  yelled  the  mob. 

Pierce  Phillips  listened  to  this  speech  with  a 
keenly  personal  and  yet  a  peculiarly  detached  in- 
terest. The  situation  struck  him  as  unreal,  gro- 
tesque, and  the  whole  procedure  as  futile.  Under 
other  circumstances  it  would  have  been  grimly 
amusing;  now  he  was  uncomfortably  aware  that 
it  was  anything  but  that.  There  was  no  law 
whatever  in  the  land  save  the  will  of  these  men; 
in  their  hands  lay  life  or  death,  exoneration  or 
infamy.  He  searched  the  faces  round  about  him, 
but  could  find  signs  neither  of  friendship  nor  of 
sympathy.  This  done,  he  looked  everywhere  for 
a  glimpse  of  a  woman's  straw-colored  hair  and 
was  relieved  to  discover  that  the  Countess  Cour- 
teau  was  not  hi  the  audience.  Doubtless  she  had 
left  for  Dyea  and  was  already  some  distance  down 
the  trail.  He  breathed  easier,  for  he  did  not  wish 

63 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

her  to  witness  his  humiliation,  and  her  presence 
would  have  merely  added  to  his  embarrassment. 

The  prosecution's  case  was  quickly  made,  and 
it  was  a  strong  one.  Even  yet  the  damning  trickle 
of  rice  grains  could  be  traced  through  the  moss  and 
mire  directly  to  the  door  of  the  prisoners'  tent, 
and  the  original  package,  identified  positively  by 
its  owner,  was  put  in  evidence.  This  in  itself  was 
enough;  testimony  frpm  the  other  men  who  had 
likewise  recovered  merchandise  they  had  missed 
and  mourned  merely  strengthened  the  case  and 
further  inflamed  the  minds  of  the  citizens. 

From  the  first  there  had  never  been  a  doubt 
in  Phillips'  mind  that  the  McCaskeys  were  guilty. 
The  facts  offered  in  evidence  served  only  to  ex- 
plain certain  things  which  had  puzzled  him  at 
various  times;  nevertheless,  his  indignation  and 
his  contempt  for  them  were  tempered  with  regrets, 
for  he  could  not  but  remember  that  they  had  be- 
friended him.  It  was  of  course  imperative  that 
he  establish  his  own  innocence,  but  he  determined 
that  in  so  doing  he  would  prejudice  their  case  as 
little  as  possible.  That  was  no  more  than  the 
merest  loyalty. 

When  it  came  time  to  hear  the  defense,  the 
McCaskeys  stared  at  Pierce  coolly;  therefore  he 
climbed  to  the  tent  platform  and  faced  his  ac- 
cusers. 

He  made  known  his  name,  his  birthplace,  the 
ship  which  had  borne  him  north.  He  told  how 
he  had  landed  at  Dyea,  how  he  had  lost  his  last 
dollar  at  the  gambling-table,  how  he  had  appealed 

64 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

to  the  McCaskey  boys,  and  how  they  had  given 
him  shelter.  That  chance  association,  he  took 
pains  to  explain,  had  continued,  but  had  never 
ripened  into  anything  more,  anything  closer;  it 
was  in  no  wise  a  partnership;  he  had  nothing  to 
do  with  them  and  they  had  nothing  to  do  with 
him.  Inasmuch  as  the  rice  had  been  stolen  dur- 
ing the  previous  night,  he  argued  that  he  could 
have  had  no  hand  in  the  theft,  for  he  had  spent 
the  night  in  Linderman,  which  fact  he  offered  to 
prove  by  two  witnesses. 

"  Produce  them,"  ordered  the  chairman. 

"One  of  them  is  still  at  Linderman,  the  other 
was  here  hi  Sheep  Camp  an  hour  ago.  She  has 
probably  started  for  Dyea  by  this  time." 

"A  woman?" 

"Yes,  sir.     I  brought  her  across." 

"What  is  her  name?" 

Phillips  hesitated.  "The  Countess  Courteau," 
said  he.  There  was  a  murmur  of  interest;  the 
members  of  the  committee  conferred  with  one 
an  other. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  us  that  you've  got  a 
titled  witness?"  the  self-appointed  spokesman  in- 
quired. His  face  wore  a  smile  of  disbelief;  when 
the  prisoner  flushed  and  nodded  he  called  out  over 
the  heads  of  the  crowd: 

"Countess  Courteau!"  There  was  no  answer. 
"Do  any  of  you  gentlemen  know  the  Countess 
Courteau?"  he  inquired. 

His  question  was  greeted  by  a  general  laugh. 

"Don't  let  him  kid  you,"  cried  a  derisive  voice. 

65 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Never  heard  of  her,  but  I  met  four  kings  last 
night,"  yelled  another. 

"Call  the  Marquis  of  Queensberry,"  shouted 
still  a  third. 

"Countess  Courteau!"  repeated  the  chairman, 
using  his  hands  for  a  megaphone. 

The  cry  was  taken  up  by  other  throats.  ' '  Count- 
ess Courteau!  Countess  Courteau!"  they  mocked. 
' '  Come,  Countess !  Nice  Countess !  Pretty  Count- 
ess!" There  was  a  ribald  note  to  this  mockery 
which  caused  Phillips'  eyes  to  glow. 

"She  and  the  count  have  just  left  the  palace. 
Let's  get  along  with  the  hangin',"  one  shrill  voice 
demanded. 

"You  won't  hang  me!"  Phillips  retorted,  angrily. 

"Be  not  so  sure,"  taunted  the  acting  judge. 
"Inasmuch  as  your  countess  appears  to  be  con- 
stituted of  that  thin  fabric  of  which  dreams  are 
made;  inasmuch  as  there  is  no  such  animal — 

"HoP  up!"  came  a  peremptory  challenge. 
"M'sieu  Jodge!"  It  was  the  big  French  Cana- 
dian whom  Pierce  had  met  on  the  crest  of  the 
divide;  he  came  forward  now,  pushing  his  resist- 
less way  through  the  audience.  "Wat  for  you 
say  dere  ain't  nobody  by  dat  name,  eh?"  He 
turned  his  back  to  the  committee  and  addressed 
the  meeting.  "Wat  for  you  hack  lak  dis,  any- 
how? By  gosh!  I  heard  'bout  dis  lady!  She's 
ol'-timer  lak  me." 

"Well,  trot  her  out!    Where  is  she?" 

"She's  on  her  way  to  Dyea,"  Pierce  insisted. 

"  She  can't  be  far— " 

66 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

Toleon  Doret  was  angry.  "I  don'  listen  to 
no  woman  be  joke  'bout,  you  hear?  Dis  boy  spik 
true.  He  was  in  Linderman  las'  night,  for  I  seen 
him  on  top  of  Chilkoot  yesterday  myse'f,  wit' 
pack  on  his  back  so  beeg  as  a  barn." 

"Do  you  know  the  accused?"  queried  the 
spokesman. 

Toleon  turned  with  a  shrug.  "Non!  No! 
But — yes,  I  know  him  li'l  bit.  Anybody  can 
tell  he's  hones'  boy.  By  Gar!  She's  strong  feller, 
too — pack  laic  hell!" 

Pierce  Phillips  was  grateful  for  this  evidence 
of  faith,  inconclusive  as  it  was  in  point  of  law. 
He  was  sorry,  therefore,  to  see  the  Frenchman, 
after  replying  shortly,  impatiently,  to  several 
senseless  cross-questions,  force  his  way  out  of  the 
crowd  and  disappear,  shaking  his  head  and  mut- 
tering in  manifest  disgust  at  the  temper  of  his 
townsmen. 

But  although  one  friend  had  gone,  another  took 
his  place — a  champion,  by  the  way,  whom  Pierce 
would  never  have  suspected  of  being  such.  Profit- 
ing by  the  break  in  the  proceedings,  Lucky  Broad 
spoke  up. 

"Frenchy  was  right — this  kid's  on  the  square," 
he  declared.  "I'm  the  gentleman  who  gathered 
his  wheat  at  Dyea — he  fairly  fed  it  to  me,  like  he 
said — so  I  guess  I'm  acquainted  with  him.  We're 
all  assembled  up  to  mete  out  justice,  and  justice 
is  going  to  be  met,  but,  say!  a  sucker  like  this 
boy  wouldn't  know  enough  to  steal!" 

It  was  doubtful  if  this  witness,  well-intentioned 
67 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

as  he  was,  carried  conviction,  for,  although  his 
followers  took  their  cue  from  him  and  applauded 
loudly,  their  very  manifestations  of  faith  aroused 
suspicion  among  the  honest  men  present. 

One  of  the  latter,  a  red-faced,  square-shouldered 
person,  thrust  a  determined  countenance  close  to 
Broad's  and  cried,  angrily:  "Is  that  so?  Well, 
I'm  for  hangin'  anybody  you  boost!" 

This  sentiment  met  with  such  instantaneous 
second  that  the  confidence-man  withdrew  pre- 
cipitately. "Have  it  your  own  way,"  he  gave 
in,  with  an  airy  gesture.  "But  take  it  from  me 
you're  a  bunch  of  boobs.  Hangin'  ain't  a  nice 
game,  and  the  guy  that  hollers  loudest  for  it  is 
usually  the  one  that  needs  it  worst." 

It  took  some  effort  on  the  part  of  the  chairman 
to  bring  the  meeting  to  order  so  that  the  hearing 
could  be  resumed. 

Phillips  went  on  with  his  story  and  told  of 
spending  the  night  with  Tom  Linton,  then  of  his 
return  to  Sheep  Camp  to  learn  that  he  had  been 
robbed  of  all  his  savings.  Corroboration  of  this 
misfortune  he  left  to  the  oral  testimony  of  the  two 
brothers  McCaskey  and  to  the  circumstantial 
evidence  of  Jim's  bandaged  head. 

While  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  given  a 
simple,  straightforward  account  of  himself  which 
would  establish  his  innocence,  so  far,  at  least,  as 
it  applied  to  the  theft  of  the  sack  of  rice,  he  was 
uncomfortably  aware  that  evidence  of  systematic 
pilfering  had  been  introduced  and  that  evidence  he 
had  not  met  except  indirectly.  His  proof  seemed 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

good  so  far  as  it  went,  but  it  did  not  go  far,  and 
he  believed  it  all  too  likely  that  his  hearers  still 
considered  him  an  accomplice,  at  the  best. 

Jim  McCaskey  was  next  called  and  Pierce 
made  way  for  him.  The  younger  brother  made 
a  poor  start,  but  he  warmed  up  to  his  own  defense, 
gaining  confidence  and  ease  as  he  talked. 

In  the  first  place,  both  he  and  Joe  were  inno- 
cent of  this  outrageous  charge — as  innocent  as  un- 
born babes — and  this  air  of  suspicion  was  like  to 
smother  them.  This  Jim  declared  upon  his  honor. 
The  evidence  was  strong,  he  admitted,  but  it  was 
purely  circumstantial,  and  he  proposed  to  explain 
it  away.  He  proposed  to  tell  the  truth,  the 
whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth;  letting 
the  blame  fall  where  it  would  and  leaving  the  ver- 
dict entirely  up  to  his  hearers.  Joe  would  sub- 
stantiate his  every  statement. 

It  was  quite  true  that  he  and  his  brother  had 
been  Good  Samaritans;  they  had  opened  their 
doors  and  had  taken  in  this  young  man  when  he 
was  hungry  and  homeless,  but  that  was  their 
habit.  They  had  fed  him,  they  had  shared  their 
blankets  with  him,  they  had  helped  him  in  a 
thousand  ways,  not  without  serious  inconvenience 
to  themselves.  Why,  only  on  the  day  before  the 
speaker  himself  had  volunteered  to  take  the  young 
man's  earnings  to  Dyea  for  safekeeping,  thereby 
letting  himself  in  for  an  unmerciful  mauling,  and 
suffering  a  semi-fractured  skull,  the  marks  of  which 
would  doubtless  stay  with  him  for  a  long  time. 

Phillips  had  left  camp  early  the  previous  morn-' 

69 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

ing,  to  be  sure,  and  he  had  not  come  home  until 
an  hour  or  two  ago,  but  where  he  had  gone,  how 
he  had  occupied  himself  during  his  absence, 
where  he  had  spent  the  night,  of  course  the 
speaker  had  no  way  of  knowing.  Phillips  was 
often  absent  at  night;  he  came  and  he  went  at  all 
hours,  and  neither  Joe  nor  the  witness  ever  ques- 
tioned him,  believing  his  statements  that  he  was 
packing  for  hire.  Neither  his  brother  nor  he  had 
ever  seen  that  sack  of  rice  antil  it  was  uncovered 
by  the  posse,  and  as  for  the  other  plunder,  it  was 
all  part  and  parcel  of  an  outfit  which  their  guest 
had  been  assembling  for  some  time.  They  sup- 
posed, of  course,  that  he  had  bought  it,  bit  by 
bit,  with  his  earnings. 

Pierce  Phillips  listened  in  speechless  amaze- 
ment, scarcely  believing  his  own  ears,  the  while 
Jim  McCaskey  struck  the  fetters  from  his  own 
and  his  brother's  limbs  and  placed  them  upon  his. 
It  seemed  impossible  that  such  a  story  could  carry- 
weight,  but  from  all  indications  it  did.  When 
Joe  McCaskey  took  the  center  of  the  stage  and 
glibly  corroborated  his  brother's  statements  Pierce 
interrupted  him  savagely,  only  to  be  warned  that 
he'd  better  be  silent. 

"That's  all  we've  got  to  say/'  concluded  the 
elder  of  the  precious  pair  when  he  had  finished. 
"You  can  judge  for  yourselves  who  did  the  steal- 
ing. Jim  and  I've  got  all  the  grub  we  want; 
this  fellow  hasn't  any." 

"Have   you   anything   to   say   for   yourself?" 

The  chairman  addressed  himself  to  Phillips. 

70 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

"  I  have."  Pierce  again  took  the  stand.  "You're 
making  a  great  mistake,"  he  said,  earnestly. 
" These  men  have  lied;  they're  trying  to  save 
themselves  at  my  expense.  I've  told  you  every- 
thing, now  I  demand  that  you  wait  to  hear  the 
Countess  Courteau  or  Mr.  Linton.  They'll  prove 
where  I  spent  last  night,  at  least." 

"Mr.  Chairman!"  A  stranger  claimed  general 
attention.  "I've  listened  to  the  evidence  and  it's 
strong  enough  for  me.  The  grub  didn't  get  up 
and  walk  away  by  itself;  somebody  took  it. 
Grub  is  more  than  grub  in  this  country;  it's  more 
than  money;  it's  a  man's  life,  that's  what  it  is. 
Now,  then,  the  McCaskeys  had  an  outfit  when 
they  landed;  they  didn't  need  to  steal;  but  this 
fellow,  this  dirty  ingrate,  he  hadn't  a  pound.  I 
don't  swallow  his  countess  story  and  I  don't  care 
a  hoot  where  he  was  last  night.  Let's  decide 
first  what  punishment  a  thief  gets,  then  let's  give 
it  to  him." 

' '  Hear !    Hear !"  came  the  cry. 

"Hanging  is  good  enough  for  thieves!"  shouted 
the  choleric  individual  who  had  so  pointedly  made 
known  his  distrust  of  Lucky  Broad.  "  I  say  stretch 
'em." 

"Right!    Let's  make  an  example!" 

"Hang  him!"  There  rose  a  hoarse  chorus  of 
assent  to  this  suggestion,  whereupon  the  chairman 
stepped  forward. 

' '  All  those  in  favor  of  hanging — ' '  he  began.  But 
again  he  was  interrupted  by  Toleon  Doret,  who 

once  more  bored  his  way  into  the  crowd,  crying : 

71 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Wait!  I  got  somet'ing  to  say."  He  was 
breathing  heavily,  as  if  from  a  considerable  exer- 
tion; perspiration  stood  upon  his  face;  his  eyes 
were  flashing.  He  vaulted  lightly  to  the  platform, 
then  flung  out  his  long  arms,  crying:  "You  hack 
lak  crazee  mans.  W'at  talk  is  dis  'bout  hangin'? 
You  ain't  wild  hanimals!" 

The  red-faced  advocate  of  the  noose  who  had 
spoken  a  moment  before  answered  him  in  a  loud 
voice : 

"I  paid  hard  money  for  my  grub  and  I've 
packed  every  pound  of  it  on  my  back.  You  can 
take  a  man's  life  by  stealing  his  matches  the 
same  as  by  shooting  him.  I  want  to  see  thieves 
on  the  end  of  a  rope." 

Doret  bent  down  to  him.  "All  right,  m'sieu! 
You  want  blood;  we  give  it  to  you.  Bring  on  dat 
rope.  I'll  put  it  on  dis  boy's  neck  if  you'll  do 
de  pullin'.  For  me,  I  ain't  care  'bout  killin'  no- 
body, but  you — you're  brave  man.  You  hang  on 
tight  w'ile  dis  boy  he  keeck,  an'  strangle,  an'  grow 
black  in  de  face.  It's  goin'  mak  you  feel  good 
all  over!" 

"Rats!    7  won't  do  the  trick,  but — " 

"Somebody  mus'  do  de  pullin'."  'Poleon 
grinned.  "He  ain't  goin'  hang  himse'f.  Mebbe 
you  got  pardner  w'at  lak  give  you  hand,  eh?"  He 
raised  his  head  and  laughed  at  the  crowd.  "Mes- 
sieurs, you  see  how  'tis.  It  takj  brave  man  to 
hang  a  feller  lak  dis.  Some  day  policeman's  goin' 
come  along  an'  say:  'By  Gar,  I  been  lookin'  for 
.you  long  tarn.  De  new  jodge  at  Dyea  he  tell  me 

72 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

you  murder  a  boy  at  Sheep  Camp.  S'pose  you 
come  wit'  me  an'  do  little  hangin'  yourse'f.'  No, 
messieurs!  We  ain't  Hinjuns;  we're  good  sen- 
sible peoples,  eh?" 

A  member  of  the  committee,  one  who  had 
hitherto  acted  a  passive  part,  now  stepped  for- 
ward. 

"Frenchy  has  put  it  right,"  he  acknowledged. 
"We'll  have  courts  in  this  country  some  day,  and 
we'll  have  to  answer  to  them.  Miners'  law  is  all 
right,  so  far  as  it  goes,  but  I  won't  be  a  party  to 
a  murder.  That's  what  this  would  be,  murder. 
If  you're  going  to  talk  hanging,  you  can  take  me 
off  of  your  committee." 

Lucky  Broad  uttered  a  yelp  of  encouragement. 
" Hangin'  sounds  better  'n  it  feels,"  he  declared. 
"  Think  it  over,  you  family  men.  When  you 
make  your  stakes  and  go  home,  little  Johnny's 
going  to  climb  onto  your  knee  and  say,  'Papa, 
tell  me  why  you  hung  that  man  at  Sheep  Camp,' 
and  you'll  say,  'Why,  son,  we  hung  him  because 
he  stole  a  sack  of  rice.'  Like  hell  you  will!" 

'Poleon  Doret  regained  public  attention  by  say- 
ing, "Messieurs,  I  got  s'prise  for  you."  He  lifted 
himself  to  his  toes  and  called  loudly  over  the 
heads  of  the  assembled  citizens,  "Dis  way,  ma- 
dame."  From  the  direction  he  was  looking  there 
came  a  swiftly  moving  figure,  the  figure  of  a  tall 
woman  with  straw-gold  hair.  Men  gave  way  be- 
fore her.  She  hurried  straight  to  the  tent  plat- 
form, where  'Poleon  leaned  down,  took  her  be- 
neath her  arms,  and  swung  her  lightly  up  beside 

73 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

him.  "  Madame  de  Countess  Courteau,"  he  an- 
nounced; then  with  a  flourish  he  swept  off  his 
knitted  cap  and  bowed  to  the  new-comer.  To 
those  beneath  him  he  cried,  sharply,  "Tak'  off 
dose  hat  or  I  knock  dem  off." 

The  Countess,  too,  had  evidently  made  haste, 
for  she  was  breathing  deeply.  She  flashed  a  smile 
at  Pierce  Phillips,  then  said,  so  that  all  could 
hear: 

"I  understand  you  accuse  this  young  man  of 
stealing  something  last  night.  Well,  he  was  in 
Linderman.  He  brought  me  over  to-day." 

"We  don't  care  so  much  about  the  rice;  this 
stealing  has  been  going  on  for  a  long  time,"  a 
bystander  explained. 

"True.  But  the  rice  was  stolen  last  night, 
wasn't  it?  The  man  who  stole  it  probably  stole 
the  other  stuff." 

"They're  two  to  one,"  Pierce  told  her.  "They're 
trying  to  saw  it  off  on  me." 

The  Countess  turned  and  stared  at  the  McCas- 
key  brothers,  who  met  her  look  defiantly.  ' '  Bah !' ' 
she  exclaimed.  "I  haven't  heard  the  evidence, 
for  I  was  on  my  way  to  Dyea  when  Mr. — "  She 
glanced  inquiringly  at  'Poleon. 

He  bowed  again.  "Doret,"  said  he.  "Na- 
poleon Doret." 

" — when  Mr.  Doret  overtook  me,  but  I'm  will- 
ing to  wager  my  life  that  this  boy  isn't  a  thief." 
Again  she  smiled  at  Phillips,  and  he  experienced 
a  tumult  of  conflicting  emotions.  Never  had  he 
seen  a  woman  like  this  one,  who  radiated  such 

74 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

strength,  such  confidence,  such  power.  She  stood 
there  like  a  goddess,  a  splendid  creature  fashioned 
of  snow  and  gold;  she  dominated  the  assembly. 
He  was  embarrassed  that  she  should  find  him  hi 
this  predicament,  shamed  that  she  should  be 
forced  to  come  to  his  assistance;  nevertheless,  he 
was  thrilled  at  her  ready  response. 

It  was  the  elder  McCaskey  who  next  claimed 
attention.  "We've  made  our  spiel,"  he  began; 
then  he  launched  into  a  repetition  of  his  former 
statement  of  facts. 

The  Countess  stepped  to  Pierce's  side,  inquir- 
ing, quickly,  "What  is  this,  a  joke?" 

"I  thought  so  at  first,  but  it  looks  as  if  I'll  be 
cutting  figure  eights  on  the  end  of  a  tent-rope." 

"What  makes  them  think  you  did  the  stealing?" 

"The  McCaskey s  swear  I  did.  You  see,  I  had 
no  outfit  of  my  own — " 

"Are  you  broke?" 

"N — no!  I  wasn't  yesterday.  I  am  now." 
In  a  few  sentences  Pierce  made  known  the  facts 
of  lu's  recent  loss,  and  pointed  to  Jim  McCaskey's 
bandaged  head. 

When  the  elder  brother  had  concluded,  the 
Countess  again  addressed  the  meeting.  "You 
men  take  it  for  granted  that  Phillips  did  the  steal- 
ing because  he  needed  grub,"  said  she.  "As  a 
matter  of  fact  he  wasn't  broke,  he  had  a  thousand 
dollars,  and — " 

"Say!  Who  hired  you  to  argue  this  case?"  It 
was  Jim  McCaskey  speaking.  He  had  edged  his 
way  forward  and  was  scowling  darkly  at  the 
0  75 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

woman.  "What's  the  idea,  anyhow?  Are  you 
stuck  on  this  kid?" 

The  Countess  Courteau  eyed  her  interrogator 
coolly,  her  cheeks  maintained  their  even  color- 
ing, her  eyes  were  as  icy  blue  as  ever.  It  was 
plain  that  she  was  hi  no  wise  embarrassed  by  his 
insinuation. 

Very  quietly  she  said:  "I'll  tell  you  whether 
I  am  if  you'll  tell  me  who  got  his  thousand  dol- 
lars. Was  it  your  brother?"  Jim  McCaskey 
recoiled;  his  face  whitened.  "Who  hit  you 
over  the  head?"  the  woman  persisted.  "Did 
he?" 

"That's  none  of  your  business,"  Jim  shouted. 
"I  want  to  know  what  you're  doing  in  this  case. 
You  say  the  kid  was  in  Linderman  last  night. 
Well,  I  say — you're  a — !  How  d'you  know  he 
was  there?  How  d'you  know  he  didn't  steal 
that  rice  before  he  left,  for  that  matter?" 

"I  know  he  was  in  Linderman  because  I  was 
with  him." 

"With  him?  AU  night?"  The  speaker  grinned 
insultingly. 

"Yes,  all  night.  I  slept  in  the  same  tent  with 
him  and — " 

"Now  I've  got  your  number,"  the  younger 
McCaskey  cried,  in  triumph. 

"Bah !"  The  Countess  shrugged  unconcernedly. 
"As  for  the  rice  being  stolen  before  he — 

"'Countess.'  Ha!"  Jim  burst  forth  again. 
"Swell  countess  you  are!  The  Dyea  dance-halls 
are  full  of  'countesses'  like  you — counting  per- 

76 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

centage  checks.  Boys,  who  are  you  going  to 
believe?  She  slept  all  night — " 

McCaskey  got  no  further,  for  with  a  cry  of 
rage  Pierce  Phillips  set  his  muscles  and  landed 
upon  him.  It  was  a  mighty  blow  and  it  found 
lodgment  upon  the  side  of  its  victim's  face. 

Jim  McCaskey  went  down  and  his  assailant, 
maddened  completely  by  the  feel  of  his  enemy's 
flesh,  lunged  forward  to  stamp  him  beneath  his 
heels.  But  stout  arms  seized  him,  bodies  inter- 
vened, and  he  was  hurled  backward.  A  shout 
arose;  there  was  a  general  scramble  for  the  raised 
platform.  There  were  yells  of: 

"  Shame!" 

"Hang  on  to  him!" 

"Stretch  him  up!" 

"Dirty  ingrate!" 

Phillips  fought  with  desperation;  his  struggles 
caused  the  structure  to  creak  and  to  strain;  men 
piled  over  it  and  joined  in  the  fight.  He  was 
whining  and  sobbing  in  his  fury. 

Meanwhile  ready  hands  had  rescued  Jim  from 
the  trampling  feet  and  now  held  his  limp  body 
erect. 

It  was  the  clarion  call  of  the  Countess  Courteau 
which  first  made  itself  heard  above  the  din.  She 
had  climbed  to  the  railing  and  was  poised  there 
with  one  arm  outflung,  a  quivering  finger  leveled 
at  Jim  McCaskey 's  head. 

"Look!"  she  cried.  "Look,  men — at  his  head! 
There's  proof  that  he's  been  lying!"  The  victim 

of  the  assault  had  lost  his  cap  in  the  scuffle,  and 

77 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

with  it  had  gone  the  bandage.  His  head  was  bare 
now,  and,  oddly  enough,  it  showed  no  matted 
hah",  no  cut,  no  bruise,  no  swelling.  It  was,  in 
fact,  a  perfectly  normal,  healthy,  well-preserved 
cranium. 

Phillips  ceased  his  struggles ;  he  passed  a  shaking 
hand  over  his  eyes  to  clear  his  vision;  his  cap- 
tors released  him  and  crowded  closer  to  Jim 
McCaskey,  who  was  now  showing  the  first  signs 
of  returning  consciousness. 

"He  told  you  he  was  held  up — that  his  skull 
was  cracked,  didn't  he?"  The  Countess  threw 
back  her  head  and  laughed  unrestrainedly.  " My! 
But  you  men  are  fools!  Now,  then,  who  do  you 
suppose  got  young  Phillips'  money?  Use  your 
wits,  men/' 

There  was  a  great  craning  of  necks,  a  momen- 
tary hush,  the  while  Jim  McCaskey  rolled  his 
head  loosely,  opened  his  eyes,  and  stared  wildly 
about. 

The  Countess  bent  down  toward  him,  and  now 
her  cheeks  had  grown  white,  her  blue  eyes  were 
flaming. 

"Well,  my  man,"  she  cried,  hi  a  shaking  voice, 
"now  you  know  what  kind  of  a  woman  I  am. 
'Counting  percentage  checks/  eh?"  She  seemed 
upon  the  point  of  reaching  out  and  throttling 
Jim  with  her  long  strong  fingers.  "Let's  see  you 
and  your  precious  brother  do  a  little  counting. 
Count  out  a  thousand  dollars  for  this  boy.  Quick!" 

It  was  'Poleon  Doret  who  searched  the  palsied 
victim.  While  other  hands  restrained  the  older 

78 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

brother  he  went  through  the  younger  one  and, 
having  done  so,  handed  Pierce  Phillips  a  bulky 
envelope  addressed  in  the  latter's  handwriting. 

" She's  yours,  eh?"  'Poleon  inquired. 

Phillips  made  a  hasty  examination,  then  nodded. 

The  Countess  turned  once  more  to  the  crowd. 
"I  move  that  you  apologize  to  Mr.  Phillips.  Are 
you  game?"  Her  question  met  with  a  yell  of 
approval.  "Now,  then,  there's  a  new  case  on 
the  docket,  and  the  charge  is  highway  robbery. 
Are  you  ready  to  vote  a  verdict?"  Her  face  was 
set,  her  eyes  still  flashed. 

11  Guilty!"  came  with  a  roar. 

"Very  well.  Hang  the  ruffians  if  you  feel  like 
it!" 

She  leaped  down  from  her  vantage-point,  And 
without  a  word,  without  a  glance  behind  hert  wt 
out  along  the  Dyea  trail. 


CHAPTER  V 

"  TOOKED  kind  of  salty  for  a  spell,  didn't  it?" 
•1— '  The  grizzled  leader  of  the  posse,  he  who  had 
effected  the  capture  of  the  thieves,  was  speaking 
to  Pierce.  "Well,  I'm  due  for  a  private  apology. 
I  hope  you  cherish  no  hard  feelings.  Eh?" 

"None  whatever,  sir.  I'm  only  too  glad  to 
get  out  whole  and  get  my  money  back.  It  was 
quite  an  experience."  Already  Phillips'  mind 
had  ranged  the  events  of  the  last  crowded  hour 
into  some  sort  of  order;  his  fancy  had  tinged  them 
with  a  glamour  already  turning  rosy  with  ro- 
mance, and  he  told  himself  that  his  thrills  had 
been  worth  their  price. 

"Lucky  that  woman  showed  up.    Who  is  she?" 
Phillips  shook  his  head.     In  his  turn  he  in- 
quired,  "What  are  you  going  to  do  with  the 
McCaskeys?" 

The  elder  man's  face  hardened.  "  I  don't  know. 
This  talk  about  hangin'  makes  me  weary.  I'd 
hang  'em;  I'd  kick  a  bar'l  out  from  under  either 
of  'em.  I've  done  such  things  and  I  never  had 
any  bad  dreams." 

But  it  was  plain  that  the  sentiment  favoring 

such  extreme  punishment  had  changed,  for  a  sug- 

80 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

gestion  was  made  to  flog  the  thieves  and  send 
them  out  of  the  country.  This  met  with  instant 
response.  A  motion  was  put  to  administer  forty 
lashes  and  it  was  carried  with  a  whoop. 

Preparations  to  execute  the  sentence  were  im- 
mediately instituted.  A  scourge  was  prepared  by 
wiring  nine  heavy  leather  thongs  to  a  whip-handle, 
the  platform  was  cleared,  and  a  call  was  issued 
for  a  man  to  administer  the  punishment.  Some 
delay  ensued  at  this  point,  but  finally  a  burly 
fellow  volunteered,  climbed  to  the  stage,  and  re- 
moved his  canvas  coat. 

Since  the  younger  McCaskey  appeared  to  be 
still  somewhat  dazed  from  the  rough  handling 
he  had  suffered,  his  brother  was  thrust  forward. 
The  latter  was  stripped  to  the  waist,  his  wrists 
were  firmly  bound,  then  trussed  up  to  one  of  the 
stout  end-poles  of  the  tent-frame  which,  skeleton- 
like,  stood  over  the  platform.  This  done,  the 
committee  fell  back,  and  the  wielder  of  the  whip 
stepped  forward. 

The  crowd  had  watched  these  grim  proceedings 
intently;  it  became  quite  silent  now.  The  hour 
was  growing  late,  the  day  had  been  overcast,  and 
a  damp  chill  that  searched  the  marrow  was 
settling  as  the  short  afternoon  drew  to  a  close. 
The  prisoner's  naked  body  showed  very  white 
beneath  his  shock  of  coal-black  hair;  his  flesh 
seemed  tender  and  the  onlookers  stared  at  it  in 
fascination. 

Joe  McCaskey  was  a  man  of  nerve;  he  held 
himself  erect ;  there  was  defiance  hi  the  gaze  which 

81 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

he  leveled  at  the  faces  below  him.  But  his  brother 
Jim  was  not  made  of  such  stern  stuff — he  was  the 
meaner,  the  more  cowardly  of  the  pair — and  these 
methodical  preparations,  the  certainty  of  his  own 
forthcoming  ordeal,  bred  in  him  a  desperate  panic. 
The  sight  of  his  brother's  flesh  bared  to  the  bite 
of  the  lash  brought  home  to  him  the  horrifying 
significance  of  a  flogging,  and  then,  as  if  to  em- 
phasize that  significance,  the  executioner  gave  his 
cat-o'-nine-tails  a  practice  swing.  As  the  lashes 
hissed  through  the  air  the  victim  at  the  post 
stiffened  rigidly,  but  his  brother,  outside  the  in- 
closure,  writhed  in  his  tracks  and  uttered  a  faint 
moan.  Profiting  by  the  inattention  of  his  cap- 
tors, Jim  McCaskey  summoned  his  strength  and 
with  an  effort  born  of  desperation  wrenched  him- 
self free.  Hands  grasped  at  him  as  he  bolted, 
bodies  barred  his  way,  but  he  bore  them  down; 
before  the  meaning  of  the  commotion  had  dawned 
upon  the  crowd  at  large  he  had  fought  his  way 
out  and  was  speeding  down  the  street.  But  fleet- 
footed  men  were  at  his  heels,  a  roar  of  rage  burst 
from  the  mob,  and  in  a  body  it  took  up  the  chase. 
Down  the  stumpy,  muddy  trail  went  the  pursuit, 
and  every  command  to  halt  spurred  the  fleeing 
man  to  swifter  flight.  Cabin  doors  opened;  peo- 
ple came  running  from  their  tents;  some  tried 
to  fling  themselves  in  the  way  of  the  escaping 
criminal;  packers  toiling  up  the  trail  heard  the 
approaching  clamor,  shook  off  their  burdens  and 
endeavored  to  seize  the  figure  that  came  bounding 
ahead  of  it.  But  Jim  dodged  them  all.  Failing 

82 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

in  their  attempt  to  intercept  him,  these  new- 
comers joined  the  chase,  and  the  fugitive,  once 
the  first  frenzy  of  excitement  had  died  in  him, 
heard  their  footsteps  gaining  on  him.  He  was 
stark  mad  by  now;  black  terror  throttled  him. 
Then  some  one  fired  a  shot;  that  shot  was  fol- 
lowed by  others;  there  came  a  scattered  fusillade, 
and  with  a  mighty  leap  Jim  McCaskey  fell.  He 
collapsed  in  midair;  he  was  dead  when  his  pur- 
suers reached  him. 

Mob  spirit  is  a  peculiar  thing;  its  vagaries  are 
difficult  to  explain  or  to  analyze.  Some  trivial 
occurrence  may  completely  destroy  its  temper, 
or  again  merely  serve  to  harden  it  and  give  it 
edge.  In  this  instance  the  escape,  the  flight,  the 
short,  swift  pursuit  and  its  tragic  ending,  had  the 
effect,  not  of  sobering  the  assembled  citizens  of 
Sheep  Camp,  not  of  satisfying  their  long-slum- 
bering rage,  but  of  mflaming  it,  of  intoxicating 
them  to  a  state  of  insane  triumph.  Like  the  Paris 
mobs  that  followed  shouting,  in  the  wake  of  the 
tumbrels  bound  for  the  guillotine,  these  men 
came  trooping  back  to  the  scene  of  execution,  and 
as  they  came  they  bellowed  hoarsely  and  they 
waved  their  arms. 

Men  react  powerfully  to  environment;  they 
put  on  rough  ways  with  rough  clothes.  Smooth 
pavements,  soap  and  hot  water,  safety-razors,  are 
strong  civilizing  agents,  but  a  man  begins  to  re- 
vert hi  the  time  it  takes  his  beard  to  grow.  These 
fellows  had  left  the  world  they  knew  behind  them; 

they  were  in  a  world  they  knew  not.     Old  stand- 

83 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

ards  had  fallen,  new  standards  had  been  reared, 
new  values  had  attached  to  crime,  therefore  they 
demanded  that  the  business  in  hand  go  on. 
Such  was  the  spirit  of  the  Chilkoot  trail. 

At  the  first  stroke  of  the  descending  whip  a 
howl  went  up — a  merciless  howl,  a  howl  of  fierce 
exultation.  Joe  McCaskey  rocked  forward  upon 
the  balls  of  his  feet;  his  frame  was  racked  by  a 
spasm  of  agony;  he  strained  at  his  thongs  until 
his  shoulder  muscles  swelled.  The  flesh  of  his 
back  knotted  and  writhed;  livid  streaks  leaped 
out  upon  it,  then  turned  crimson  and  began  to 
trickle  blood. 

"One!"  roared  the  mob. 

The  wielder  of  the  scourge  swung  his  weapon 
again;  again  the  leather  strips  wrapped  around 
the  victim's  ribs  and  laid  open  their  defenseless 
covering. 

"Two!" 

McCaskey  lunged  forward,  then  strained  back- 
ward; the  tent-frame  creaked  as  he  pulled  at  it. 
His  head  was  drawn  far  back  between  his  shoul- 
ders, his  face  was  convulsed,  and  his  gums  were 
bared  in  a  skyward  grin.  If  he  uttered  any  sound 
it  was  lost  in  the  uproar. 

"Three!" 

It  was  a  frightful  punishment.  The  man's  flesh 
was  being  stripped  from  his  bones. 

"Four!" 

"Five!" 

The  count  went  on  monotonously,  for  the  fellow 
with  the  whip  swung  slowly,  putting  his  whole 

84 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

strength  behind  every  blow.  When  it  had  climbed 
to  eight  the  prisoner's  body  was  dripping  with 
blood,  his  trousers-band  was  sodden  with  it. 
WTien  it  had  reached  ten  he  hung  suspended 
by  his  wrists  and  only  a  fierce  involuntary 
muscular  reaction  answered  the  caress  of  the  nine 
lashes. 

Forty  stripes  had  been  voted  as  the  penalty, 
but  'Poleon  Doret  vaulted  to  the  platform,  seized 
the  upraised  whip,  and  tore  it  from  the  execution- 
er's hand.  He  turned  upon  the  crowd  a  counte- 
nance white  with  fury  and  disgust. 

"Enough!"  he  shouted.  "By  Gar!  You  keel 
him  next!  If  you  mus'  w'ip  somebody,  w'ip 
me;  dis  feller  is  mos'  dead."  He  strode  to  the 
post  and  with  a  slash  of  his  hunting-knife  cut 
McCaskey  down. 

This  action  was  greeted  by  an  angry  yell  of 
protest;  there  was  a  rush  toward  the  platform, 
but  'Poleon  was  joined  by  the  leader  ef  the  posse, 
who  scrambled  through  the  press  and  ranged 
himself  in  opposition  to  the  audience.  The  old 
man  was  likewise  satiated  with  this  torture;  his 
face  was  wet  with  sweat;  beneath  his  drooping 
gray  mustache  his  teeth  were  set. 

"Back  up,  you  hyenas!"  he  cried,  shrilly. 
"The  show's  over.  The  man  took  his  medicine 
and  he  took  it  like  a  man.  He's  had  enough." 

"Gimme  the  whip.  I'll  finish  the  job,"  some 
one  shouted. 

The  former  speaker  bent  forward  abristle  with 
defiance. 

85 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"You  try  it!"  he  spat  out.  "You  touch  that 
whip,  and  by  God,  I'll  kill  you!"  He  lent 
point  to  this  threat  by  drawing  and  cocking  his 
six-shooter.  "If  you  men  ain't  had  enough 
blood  for  one  day,  I'll  let  a  little  more  for  you." 
His  words  ended  in  a  torrent  of  profanity.  "  Climb 
aboard!"  he  shrilled.  "Who's  got  the  guts  to 
try?" 

Doret  spoke  to  him  shortly,  "Dese  men  ain't 
goin'  mak'  no  trouble,  m'sieu'."  With  that  he 
turned  his  back  and,  heedless  of  the  clamor,  be- 
gan to  minister  to  the  bleeding  man.  He  had 
provided  himself  with  a  bottle  of  lotion,  doubtless 
some  antiseptic  snatched  from  the  canvas  drug- 
store down  the  street,  and  with  this  he  wet  a 
handkerchief;  then  he  washed  McCaskey's  lacer- 
ated back.  A  member  of  the  committee  joined 
him  in  this  work  of  mercy;  soon  others  came  to 
then*  assistance,  and  gradually  the  crowd  began 
breaking  up.  Some  one  handed  the  sufferer  a 
drink  of  whisky,  which  revived  him  considerably, 
and  by  the  time  he  was  ready  to  receive  his  up- 
per garments  he  was  to  some  extent  master  of 
himself. 

Joe  McCaskey  accepted  these  attentions  with- 
out a  word  of  thanks,  without  a  sign  of  gratitude. 
He  appeared  to  be  numbed,  paralyzed,  by  the 
nervous  shock  he  had  undergone,  and  yet  he  was 
not  paralyzed,  for  his  eyes  were  intensely  alive. 
They  were  wild,  baleful;  his  roving  glance  was 
like  poison  to  the  men  it  fell  upon. 

"You're  due  to  leave  camp,"  he  was  told,  "and 

86 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

you're  going  to  take  the  first  boat  from  Dyea. 
Is  there  anything  you  want  to  say.  anything  you 
want  to  do,  before  you  go?" 

"I — want  something  to — eat,"  Joe  answered, 
hoarsely.  "I'm  hungry."  These  were  the  first 
words  he  had  uttered;  they  met  with  astonish- 
ment; nevertheless  he  was  led  to  the  nearest 
restaurant.  Surrounded  by  a  silent,  curious 
group,  he  crouched  over  the  board  counter  and 
wolfed  a  ravenous  meal.  When  he  had  finished 
he  rose,  turned,  and  stared  questioningly  at  the 
circle  of  hostile  faces;  his  eyes  still  glittered  with 
that  basilisk  glare  of  hatred  and  defiance.  There 
was  something  huge,  disconcerting,  about  the  man. 
Not  once  had  he  appealed  for  mercy,  not  once 
had  he  complained,  not  once  had  he  asked  about 
his  brother ;  he  showed  neither  curiosity  nor  con- 
cern over  Jim's  fate,  and  now  he  betrayed  the 
utmost  indifference  to  his  own.  He  merely  shifted 
that  venomous  stare  from  one  face  to  another  as 
if  indelibly  to  photograph  each  and  every  one  of 
them  upon  his  mind. 

But  the  citizens  of  Sheep  Camp  were  not  done 
with  him  yet.  His  hands  were  again  bound,  this 
time  behind  him;  a  blanket  roll  was  roped  upon 
his  shoulders,  upon  his  breast  was  hung  a  staring 
placard  which  read: 

"I  am  a  thief!    Spit  on  me  and  send  me  along." 

Thus  decorated,  he  met  his  crowning  indignity. 
Extending  from  the  steps  of  the  restaurant  far 
down  the  street  twin  rows  of  men  had  formed,  and 
this  gauntlet  Joe  McCaskey  was  forced  to  run. 

87 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

He  bore  this  ordeal  as  he  had  borne  the  other. 
Men  jeered  at  him,  they  flung  handfuls  of  wet 
moss  and  mud  at  him,  they  spat  upon  him,  some 
even  struck  him,  bound  as  he  was. 

Sickened  at  the  sight,  Pierce  Phillips  witnessed 
the  final  chapter  of  this  tragedy  into  which  the 
winds  of  chance  had  blown  him.  For  one  instant 
only  did  his  eyes  meet  those  of  his  former  tent- 
mate,  but  during  that  brief  glance  the  latter  made 
plain  his  undying  hatred.  McCaskey's  gaze  in- 
tensified, his  upper  lip  drew  back  in  a  grimace 
similar  to  that  which  he  had  lifted  to  the  sky  when 
agony  ran  through  his  veins  like  fire;  he  seemed 
to  concentrate  the  last  ounce  of  his  soul's  energy 
in  the  sending  of  some  wordless  message.  Hellish 
fury,  a  threat  too  baneful,  too  ominous,  for  ex- 
pression dwelt  hi  that  stare;  then  a  splatter  of 
mire  struck  him  in  the  face  and  blotted  it  out. 

When  the  last  jeer  had  died  away,  when  the 
figure  of  Joe  McCaskey  had  disappeared  into  the 
misty  twilight,  Phillips  drew  a  deep  breath. 
What  a  day  this  had  been,  what  a  tumult  he  had 
lived  through,  what  an  experience  he  had  under- 
gone! This  was  an  adventure!  He  had  lived, 
he  had  made  an  enemy.  Life  had  come  his  way, 
and  the  consciousness  of  that  fact  caused  him  to 
tingle.  This  would  be  something  to  talk  about; 
what  would  the  folks  back  home  say  to  this? 
And  the  Countess — that  wonderful  woman  of  ice 
and  fire!  That  superwoman  who  could  sway  the 
•minds  of  men,  whose  wit  was  quicker  than  light. 
Well,  she  had  saved  him,  saved  his  good  name, 

88 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

if  not  his  neck,  and  his  life  was  hers.  Who  was 
she?  What  mission  brought  her  here?  What 
hurry  crowded  on  her  heels?  What  idle  chance 
had  flung  them  into  each  other's  arms?  Or 
was  it  idle  chance?  Was  there  such  a  thing  as 
chance,  after  all?  Were  not  men's  random  fort- 
unes all  laid  out  in  conformity  with  some  obscure 
purpose  to  form  a  part  of  some  intricate  design? 
Dust  he  was,  dust  blown  upon  the  breath  of  the 
North,  as  were  these  other  human  atoms  which 
had  been  borne  thither  from  the  farthest  quarters 
of  the  earth;  but  when  that  dust  had  settled 
would  it  not  arrange  itself  into  patterns  mapped 
out  at  the  hour  of  birth  or  long  before?  Somehow 
he  believed  that  such  would  be  the  case. 

As  for  the  Countess,  his  way  was  hers,  her  way 
was  his;  he  could  not  bear  to  think  of  losing  her. 
She  was  big,  she  was  great,  she  drew  him  by  the 
spell  of  some  strange  magic. 

The  peppery  old  man  who,  with  Doret's  help, 
had  defied  the  miners'  meeting  approached  him 
to  inquire: 

"Say,  why  didn't  old  Tom  come  back  with  you 
from  Linderman?" 

"  Old  Tom?" 

"Sure!  Old  Tom  Linton.  We're  pardners. 
I'm  Jerry  Quirk." 

"He  was  tired  out." 

' '  Tired !'  Mr.  Quirk  snorted  derisively.  ' '  What 
tired  him?  He  can't  tote  enough  grub  to  satisfy 
his  own  hunger.  Me,  I'm  double-trippin' — re- 
layin'  our  stuff  to  the  Summit  and  breakin'  my 

89 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

back  at  it.  I  can't  make  him  understand  we'd 
ought  to  keep  the  outfit  together;  he's  got  it 
scattered  like  a  mad  woman's  hair.  But  old 
Tom's  hi  the  sere  and  yellow  leaf:  he's  onnery. 
like  all  old  men.  I  try  to  humor  him,  but — there's 
a  limit. ' '  The  speaker  looked  Pierce  over  shrewdly. 
"You  said  you  was  packin'  for  wages.  Well,  old 
Tom  ain't  any  help  to  me.  You  look  strong. 
Mebbe  I  could  hire  you." 

Phillips  shook  his  head.  "I  don't  want  work 
just  now,"  said  he.  "I'm  going  to  Dyea  hi  the 
morning." 

Jim  McCaskey  was  buried  where  he  had  fallen, 
and  there  beside  the  trail,  so  that  all  who  passed 
might  read  and  ponder,  the  men  of  Sheep  Camp 
raised  a  board  with  this  inscription: 

"Here  lies  the  body  of  a  thief." 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  CERTAIN  romantic  glamour  attaches  to  all 
•**•  new  countries,  but  not  every  man  is  respon- 
sive to  it.  To  the  person  who  finds  enjoyment, 
preoccupation,  in  studying  a  ruin  or  in  contem- 
plating glories,  triumphs,  dramas  long  dead  and 
gone,  old  buildings,  old  cities,  and  old  worlds 
sound  a  resistless  call.  The  past  is  peopled  with 
impressive  figures,  to  be  sure;  it  is  a  tapestry 
into  which  are  woven  scenes  of  tremendous  sig- 
nificance and  events  of  the  greatest  moment,  and 
it  is  quite  natural,  therefore,  that  the  majority 
of  people  should  experience  greater  fascination. in 
studying  it  than  in  painting  new  scenes  upon  a 
naked  canvas  with  colors  of  their  own  imagining. 
To  them  new  countries  are  crude,  uninteresting. 
But  there  is  another  type  of  mind  which  finds  a 
more  absorbing  spell  in  the  contemplation  of 
things  to  come  than  of  things  long  past;  another 
temperament  to  which  the  proven  and  the  tried 
possess  a  flat  and  tasteless  flavor.  They  are  rest- 
less, anticipative  people;  they  are  the  ones  who 
blaze  trails.  To  them  great  cities,  established 
order,  the  intricate  structure  of  well-settled  lifer 
are  both  monotonous  and  oppressive;  they  do 

7  91 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

not  thrive  well  thereunder.  But  put  them  out 
on  the  fringe  of  things,  transplant  them  to  wild 
soil,  and  the  sap  runs,  they  flower  rankly. 

To  Pierce  Phillips  the  new  surroundings  into 
which  he  had  been  projected  were  intensely  stimu- 
lating; they  excited  him  as  he  had  never  been  ex- 
cited, and  each  day  he  awoke  to  the  sense  of  new 
adventures.  Life,  as  he  had  known  it,  had  always 
been  good — and  full,  too,  for  that  matter — and  he 
had  hugely  enjoyed  it;  nevertheless,  it  had  im- 
pressed upon  him  a  sense  of  his  own  insignificance. 
He  had  been  lost,  submerged,  in  it.  Here,  on  the 
threshold  of  a  new  world,  he  had  begun  to  find 
himself,  and  the  experience  was  delightful.  By 
some  magic  he  had  been  lifted  to  a  common  level 
with  every  other  man,  and  no  one  had  advantage 
over  him.  The  momentous  future  was  as  much 
his  as  theirs  and  the  God  of  Luck  was  in  charge 
of  things. 

There  was  a  fever  in  the  very  air  he  breathed, 
the  food  he  ate,  the  water  he  drank.  Life  ran 
at  a  furious  pace  and  it  inspired  in  him  supreme 
exhilaration  to  be  swept  along  by  it.  Over  all 
this  new  land  was  a  purple  haze  of  mystery — a 
sense  of  the  Unknown  right  at  hand.  The  Be- 
yond was  beckoning;  it  was  as  if  great  curtains 
had  parted  and  he  beheld  vistas  of  tremendous 
promise.  Keenest  of  all,  perhaps,  was  his  joy 
at  discovering  himself. 

Appreciation  of  this  miraculous  rebirth  was  full- 
est when,  at  rare  intervals,  he  came  off  the  trail 
and  back  to  Dyea,  for  then  he  renewed  his  touch 

92 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

with  that  other  world,  and  the  contrast  became 
more  evident. 

Dyea  throbbed  nowadays  beneath  a  mighty 
head  of  steam;  it  had  grown  surprisingly  and  it 
was  intensely  alive.  Phillips  never  came  back  to 
it  without  an  emotional  thrill  and  a  realization  of 
great  issues,  great  undertakings,  in  process  of 
working  out.  The  knowledge  that  he  had  a 
part  in  them  aroused  in  him  an  intoxicating 
pleasure. 

Dyea  had  become  a  metropolis  of  boards  and 
canvas,  of  logs  and  corrugated  iron.  Stores  had 
risen,  there  were  hotels  and  lodging-houses,  busy 
restaurants  and  busier  saloons  whence  came  the 
sounds  of  revelry  by  night  and  by  day.  It  was  a 
healthy  revelry,  by  the  way,  like  the  boisterous 
hilarity  of  a  robust  boy.  Dyea  was  just  that — 
an  overgrown,  hilarious  boy.  There  was  nothing 
querulous  or  sickly  about  this  child;  it  was  strong, 
it  was  sturdy,  it  was  rough;  it  romped  with 
everybody  and  it  grew  out  of  its  clothes  over- 
night. Every  house,  every  tent,  in  the  town  was 
crowded;  supply  never  quite  overtook  demand. 

Pack-animals  were  being  imported,  bridges  were 
being  built,  the  swamps  were  being  hastily  cor- 
duroyed; there  was  talk  of  a  tramway  up  the 
side  of  the  Chilkoot,  but  the  gold  rush  increased 
daily,  and,  despite  better  means  of  transportation, 
the  call  for  packers  went  unanswered  and  the  price 
per  pound  stayed  up.  New  tribes  of  Indians  from 
down  the  coast  had  moved  thither,  babies  and 
baggage,  and  they  were  growing  rich.  The  stam- 

93 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

pede  itself  resembled  the  spring  run  of  the  silver 
salmon — it  was  equally  mad,  equally  resistless. 
It  was  equally  wasteful,  too,  for  birds  and  beasts 
of  prey  fattened  upon  it  and  the  outsetting  cur- 
rent bore  a  burden  of  derelicts. 

Values  were  extravagant;  mon^y  ran  like 
water;  the  town  was  wide  open  and  it  took  toll 
from  every  new-comer.  The  ferment  was  kept 
active  by  a  trickle  of  outgoing  Klondikers,  a  con- 
siderable number  of  whom  passed  through  on  their 
way  back  to  the  States.  These  men  had  been 
educated  to  the  liberal  ways  of  the  " inside" 
country  and  were  prodigal  spenders.  The  scent 
of  the  salt  sea,  the  sight  of  new  faces,  the  prox- 
imity of  the  open  world,  were  like  strong  drink 
to  them,  hence  they  untied  their  mooseskin 
"pokes"  and  scattered  the  contents  like  sawdust. 
Their  tales  of  the  new  El  Dorado  stimulated  a 
similar  recklessness  among  then-  hearers. 

To  a  boy  like  Pierce  Phillips,  in  whom  the  spirit 
of  youth  was  a  flaming  torch,  all  this  spelled 
glorious  abandon,  a  supreme  riot  of  Olympic 
emotions. 

Precisely  what  reason  he  had  for  coming  to  town 
this  morning  he  did  not  know;  nevertheless,  he 
was  drawn  seaward  as  by  a  mighty  magnet.  He 
told  himself  that  ordinary  gratitude  demanded 
that  he  thank  the  Countess  Courteau  for  her  ser- 
vice to  him,  but  as  a  matter  of  fact  he  was  less 
interested  in  voicing  his  gratitude  than  hi  merely 
seeing  her  again.  He  was  not  sure  but  that  she 
would  resent  his  thanks ;  nevertheless,  it  was  neces- 

94 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

sary  to  seek  her  out,  for  already  her  image  was 
nebulous,  and  he  could  not  piece  together  a  satis- 
factory picture  of  her.  She  obsessed  his  thoughts, 
but  his  intense  desire  to  fix  her  indelibly  therein 
had  defeated  its  purpose  and  had  blurred  the 
photograph.  Who  was  she?  What  was  she? 
WTiere  was  she  going?  What  did  she  think  of 
him?  The  possibility  that  she  might  leave  Dyea 
before  answering  those  questions  spurred  him  into 
a  gait  that  devoured  the  miles. 

But  when  he  turned  into  the  main  street  of  the 
town  his  haste  vanished  and  a  sudden  embarrass- 
ment overtook  him.  What  would  he  say  to  her, 
now  that  he  was  here?  How  would  he  excuse 
or  explain  his  obvious  pursuit?  Would  she  see 
through  him?  If  so,  what  light  would  kindle  in 
those  ice-blue  eyes?  The  Countess  was  an  unusual 
woman.  She  knew  men,  she  read  them  clearly, 
and  she  knew  how  to  freeze  them  in  their  tracks. 
Pierce  felt  quite  sure  that  she  would  guess  his 
motives,  therefore  he  made  up  his  mind  to  dis- 
semble cunningly.  He  decided  to  assume  a  casual 
air  and  to  let  chance  arrange  their  actual  meeting. 
WTien  he  did  encounter  her,  a  quick  smile  of 
pleased  surprise  on  his  part,  a  few  simple  words 
of  thanks,  a  manly  statement  that  he  was  glad 
she  had  not  left  before  his  duties  permitted  him 
to  look  her  up,  and  she  would  be  completely  de- 
ceived. Thereafter  fate  would  decree  how  well  or 
how  badly  they  got  acquainted.  Yes,  that  was 
the  way  to  go  about  it. 

Having  laid  out  this  admirable  program,  he 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

immediately  defied  it  by  making  a  bee-line  for 
the  main  hotel,  a  big  board  structure  still  in  proc- 
ess of  erection.  His  feet  carried  him  thither  in 
spite  of  himself.  Like  a  homing-pigeon  he  went, 
and  instinct  guided  him  unerringly,  for  he  found 
the  Countess  Courteau  in  the  office. 

She  was  dressed  as  on  the  day  before,  but  by 
some  magic  she  had  managed  to  freshen  and 
to  brighten  herself.  In  her  hand  she  held  her 
traveling-bag;  she  was  speaking  to  the  proprietor 
as  Pierce  stepped  up  behind  her. 

"  Fifteen  thousand  dollars  as  it  stands,"  he 
heard  her  say.  "  That's  my  price.  I'll  make  you 
a  present  of  the  lumber.  The  Queen  leaves  in 
twenty  minutes." 

The  proprietor  began  to  argue,  but  she  cut  him 
short :  "That's  my  last  word.  Three  hundred  per 
cent,  on  your  money." 

"But- 

" Think  it  over!"  Her  tone  was  cool,  her  words 
were  crisp.  "I  take  the  lighter  in  ten  minutes." 
She  turned  to  find  Phillips  at  her  shoulder. 

"Good  morning!"  Her  face  lit  up  with  a  smile; 
she  extended  her  hand,  and  he  seized  it  as  a  fish 
swallows  a  bait.  He  blushed  redly. 

"I'm  late,"  he  stammered.  "I  mean  I — I  hur- 
ried right  in  to  tell  you — " 

"So  they  didn't  hang  you?" 

"No!  You  were  wonderful!  I  couldn't  rest 
until  I  had  told  you  how  deeply  grateful — " 

"Nonsense !"  The  Countess  shrugged  her  shoul- 
ders. "I'm  glad  you  came  before  I  left." 

96 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"You're  not — going  away?"  he  queried,  with 
frank  apprehension. 

"In  ten  minutes." 

"See  here!"  It  was  the  hotel  proprietor  who 
addressed  the  woman.  "You  can't  possibly 
make  it  before  snow  flies,  and  the  boats  are  over- 
loaded coming  north;  they  can't  handle  the 
freight  they've  got." 

"I'll  be  back  in  three  weeks,"  the  Countess 
asserted,  positively.  "I'll  bring  my  own  pack- 
train.  If  something  should  delay  me,  I'll  open 
up  here  and  put  you  out  of  business.  This  town 
will  be  good  for  a  year  or  two." 

"You  can't  threaten  me,"  the  fellow  blustered. 
"Twenty  thousand  is  my  price." 

"Good-by!"  The  Countess  turned  once  more 
to  Pierce. 

"Are  you  leaving  for  good?"  he  inquired,  de- 
spondently, unable  to  dissemble. 

"Bless  you,  no!  I'll  probably  die  hi  this 
country.  I'm  going  out  on  business,  but  I'll  be 
back  in  Dawson  ahead  of  the  ice.  You'll  be  going 
across  soon,  I  dare  say.  Come,  walk  down  to 
the  beach  with  me." 

Together  they  left  the  building  and  found  their 
way  to  the  landing-place,  where  a  lighter  was 
taking  on  passengers  for  the  steamship  Queen. 

"I  suppose  you  know  how  sorry  I  am  for  what 
happened  yesterday,"  Pierce  began. 

The  Countess  looked  up  from  her  abstracted 
contemplation  01  the  scene;  there  was  a  faint 

inquiry  in  her  face. 

97 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Sorry?  I  should  think  you'd  be  about  the 
happiest  boy  hi  Dyea." 

"  I  mean  what  Jim  McCaskey  said.  I'd  have — 
killed  him  if  I  could.  I  tried  to!" 

."  Oh !"  The  woman  nodded ;  her  teeth  gleamed 
in  a  smile  that  was  not  at  all  pleasant.  "I  heard 
about  the  shooting  this  morning;  I  meant  to  ask 
you  about  it,  but  I  was  thinking  of  other 
things."  She  measured  the  burly  frame  of  the 
young  man  at  her  side  and  the  vindietiveness  died 
out  of  her  expression.  Phillips  was  good  to  look 
at;  he  stood  a  full  six  feet  in  height,  his  close- 
cropped  hair  displayed  a  shapely  head,  and  his 
features  were  well  molded.  He  was  a  handsome, 
open  lad,  the  Countess  acknowledged.  Aloud 
she  said:  "I  dare  say  every  woman  loves  to  have 
a  man  fight  for  her.  I  do  my  own  fighting, 
usually,  but  it's  nice  to  have  a  champion."  Her 
gaze  wandered  back  to  the  hotel,  then  up  the  pine- 
flanked  valley  toward  the  Chilkoot;  her  abstrac- 
tion returned;  she  appeared  to  weigh  some  intri- 
cate mathematical  calculation. 

With  his  hands  in  his  pockets  the  hotel-keeper 
came  idling  down  to  the  water's  edge  and,  ap- 
proaching his  departing  guest,  said,  carelessly: 

"I've  been  thinking  it  over,  ma'am.  There 
isn't  room  for  two  of  us  here.  I  might  make  it 
seventeen  thousand  five  hundred,  if — " 

"Fifteen!    No  more." 

There  came  a  signal  from  the  steamer  in  the 
offing;  the  Countess  extended  her  hand  to  Pierce. 

"Good-by!    If  you're  still  here  three  weeks 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

from  now  you  may  be  able  to  help  me."  Then 
she  joined  the  procession  up  the  gang-plank. 

But  the  hotel-keeper  halted  her.  "Fifteen  is 
a  go!"  he  said,  angrily. 

The  Countess  Courteau  stepped  back  out  of  the 
line.  "Very  wel1.  Make  out  the  bill  of  sale. 
I'll  meet  you  at  Healy  &  Wilson's  in  ten  minutes." 

A  moment  later  she  smiled  at  Pierce  and  heaved 
a  sigh  of  relief. 

"Well,  I  brought  him  to  time,  didn't  I?  I'd 
never  have  gone  aboard.  I'd  have  paid  him 
twenty-five  thousand  dollars,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
but  he  hadn't  sense  enough  to  see  it.  I  knew  I 
had  him  when  he  followed  me  down  here." 

"What  have  you  bought?" 

"That  hotel  yonder — all  but  the  lumber." 

"All  but  the  lumber!  Why,  there  isn't  much 
else!"  Pierce  was  more  than  a  little  astonished. 

"Oh  yes,  there  is!  Dishes,  hardware,  glass, 
beds,  bedding,  windows,  fixtures — everything  in- 
side the  building,  that's  what  I  bought.  That's 
all  I  wanted.  I'll  have  the  place  wrecked  and  the 
stuff  packed  up  and  on  men's  backs  in  two  days. 
It  cost — I  don't  know  what  it  cost,  and  I  don't 
care.  The  fellow  was  perfectly  right,  though; 
I  haven't  time  to  get  to  Seattle  and  back  again. 
Know  any  men  who  want  work?" 

"I  want  it," 

"Know  any  others?"  Pierce  shook  his  head. 
"Find  some — the  more  the  better.  Carpenters 
first,  if  there  are  any."  The  speaker  was  all 
business  now.  "You're  working  for  me  from 

99 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

this  minute,  understand?  Treat  me  right  and 
I'll  treat  you  right.  I'll  take  you  through  to 
Dawson.  I  want  carpenters,  packers,  boatmen; 
they  must  work  fast.  Long  hours,  long  chances, 
big  pay,  that's  what  it  will  mean.  That  outfit 
must  be  in  Dawson  ahead  of  the  ice.  Such  a  thing 
has  never  been  done;  it  can't  be  done!  But  I'll 
do  it!  Do  you  want  to  tackle  the  job?" 

Phillips'  eyes  were  dancing.  "I'll  eat  it  up!" 
he  cried,  breathlessly. 

"Good!  I  think  you'll  do.  Wait  for  me  at 
the  hotel."  With  a  brisk  nod  she  was  off,  leaving 
him  in  a  perfect  whirl  of  emotions. 

Her  man!  She  had  called  him  that.  "Fast 
work,  long  hours,  long  chances";  an  impossible 
task!  What  happy  impulse  had  sped  him  to 
town  this  morning?  Ten  minutes  was  the  nar- 
row margin  by  which  he  had  won  his  opportunity, 
and  now  the  door  to  the  North  had  opened  at  a 
woman's  touch.  Inside  lay — everything!  She 
thought  he'd  do?  Wliy,  she  must  know  he'd  do. 
She  must  know  he'd  give  up  his  life  for  her! 

He  pinched  himself  to  ascertain  if  he  were 
dreaming. 

The  Northern  Hotel  was  less  than  three-quarters 
built,  but  within  an  hour  after  it  had  changed 
ownership  it  was  in  process  of  demolition.  The 
Countess  Courteau  was  indeed  a  "lightning 
striker";  while  Phillips  went  through  the  streets 
offering  double  wages  to  men  who  could  wield 
hammer  and  saw,  and  the  possibility  of  trans- 
portation clear  to  Dawson  for  those  who  could 

100 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

handle  an  oar,  she  called  off  the  building  crew  and 
set  them  to  new  tasks,  then  she  cleared  the  house 
of  its  guests.  Rooms  were  invaded  with  peremp- 
tory orders  to  vacate;  the  steady  help  was  put  to 
undoing  what  they  had  already  done,  and  soon 
the  premises  were  in  tumult.  Such  rooms  as  had 
been  completed  were  dismantled  even  while  the 
protesting  occupants  were  yet  gathering  their 
belongings  together.  Beds  were  knocked  down, 
bedding  was  moved  out;  windows,  door-knobs, 
hinges,  fixtures  were  removed;  dishes,  lamps,  mir- 
rors, glassware  were  assembled  for  packing. 

Through  all  this  din  and  clatter  the  Countess 
Courteau  passed,  spurring  the  wreckers  on  to 
speed.  Yielding  to  Phillips'  knowledge  of  trans- 
portation problems  and  limitations,  she  put  him 
in  general  charge,  and  before  he  realized  it  he 
found  that  he  was  hi  reality  her  first  lieutenant. 

Toward  evening  a  ship  arrived  and  began  to 
belch  forth  freight  and  passengers,  whereupon 
there  ensued  a  rush  to  find  shelter. 

Pierce  was  engaged  in  dismantling  the  office 
fixtures  when  a  stranger  entered  and  accosted 
him  with  the  inquiry: 

"Got  any  rooms?" 

"No,  sir.  We're  moving  this  hotel  bodily  to 
Dawson." 

The  new-comer  surveyed  the  littered  premises 
with  some  curiosity.  He  was  a  tall,  gray-haired 
man,  with  a  long,  impassive  face  of  peculiar  ashen 
color.  He  had  lost  his  left  hand  somewhere 

above  the  wrist  and  in  place  of  it  wore  a  metal 

101 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

hook.  With  this  he  gestured  stiffly  in  the  direc- 
tion of  a  girl  who  had  followed  him  into  the 
building. 

"She's  got  to  have  a  bed/'  he  declared.  "I 
<jan  get  along  somehow  till  my  stuff  is  landed 
to-morrow." 

"I'm  sorry,"  Pierce  told  him,  "but  the  beds 
are  all  down  and  the  windows  are  out.  I'm 
afraid  nobody  could  get  much  sleep  here,  for 
we'll  be  at  work  all  night." 

"Any  other  hotels?" 

"Some  bunk-houses.    But  they're  pretty  full." 

"Money  no  object,  I  suppose?"  the  one-armed 
man  ventured 

"Oh,  none." 

The  stranger  turned  to  his  companion.  "Looks 
like  we'd  have  to  sit  up  till  our  tents  come  off. 
J  hope  they've  got  chairs  in  this  town." 

"We  can  stay  aboard  the  ship."  The  girl 
had  a  pleasant  voice — she  was,  in  fact,  a  pleasant 
sight  to  look  upon,  for  her  face  was  quiet  and 
dignified,  her  eyes  were  level  and  gray,  she  wrore 
a  head  of  wavy  chestnut  hah1  combed  neatly  back 
beneath  a  trim  hat. 

Alaska,  during  the  first  rush,  was  a  land  of 
pretty  women,  owing  to  the  fact  that  a  large 
proportion  of  those  who  came  North  did  so 
for  the  avowed  purpose  of  trading  upon  that 
capital,  but  even  in  such  company  this  girl  was 
noticeable  and  Pierce  Phillips  regarded  her  with 
distinct  approval. 

"You  can  have  my  part  of  that,"  the  man 

102 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

told  her,  with  a  slight  grimace.  "This  racket 
is  music,  to  the  bellow  of  those  steers.  And  it 
smells  better  here.  If  I  go  aboard  again  I'll  be 
hog-tied.  Why,  I'd  rather  sit  up  all  night  and 
deal  casino  to  a  mad  Chinaman!" 

"We'll  manage  somehow,  dad."  The  girl  turned 
to  the  door  and  her  father  followed  her.  He 
paused  for  a  moment  while  he  ran  his  eye  up  and 
down  the  busy  street. 

"Looks  like  old  times,  doesn't  it,  Letty?" 
Then  he  stepped  out  of  sight. 

When  darkness  came  the  wrecking  crew  worked 
on  by  the  light  of  lamps,  lanterns,  and  candles, 
for  the  inducement  of  double  pay  was  potent. 

Along  about  midnight  Mr.  Lucky  Broad,  the 
shell-man,  picked  his  way  through  the  bales  and 
bundles  and,  recognizing  Phillips,  greeted  him 
familiarly: 

"Hello,  kid!  Where's  her  nibs,  the  corn-tassel 
Countess?" 

"Gone  to  supper." 

"Well,  she  sprung  you,  didn't  she?  Some  gal! 
I  knew  you  was  all  right,  but  them  boys  was 
certainly  roily." 

Pierce  addressed  the  fellow  frankly:  "I'm 
obliged  to  you  for  taking  my  part.  I  hardly  ex- 
pected it." 

"WTiy  not?  I  got  nothing  against  you.  I 
got  a  sort  of  tenderness  for  guys  like  you — I 
hate  to  see  'em  destroyed."  Mr.  Broad  grinned 
widely  and  his  former  victim  responded  in  like 

manner. 

108 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"I  don't  blame  you,"  said  the  latter.  "I  was 
an  awful  knot-head,  but  you  taught  me  a  lesson." 

" Pshaw!"  The  confidence-man  shrugged  his 
shoulders  carelessly.  "The  best  of  'em  fall  for 
the  shells.  I  was  up  against  it  and  had  to  get 
some  rough  money,  but — it's  a  hard  way  to  make 
a  Irving.  These  pilgrims  squawk  so  loud  it  isn't 
safe — you'd  think  their  coin  was  soldered  onto 
'em.  That's  why  I'm  here.  I  understand  her 
Grace  is  hiring  men  to  go  to  Dawson." 

"Yes." 

"Well,  take  a  flash  at  me."  .Mr.  Broad  stif- 
fened his  back,  arched  his  chest,  and  revolved  slow- 
ly upon  his  heels.  "Pretty  nifty,  eh?  What 
kind  of  men  does  she  want?" 

"Packers,  boatmen — principally  boatmen — fel- 
lows who  can  run  white  water." 

The  new  applicant  was  undoubtedly  in  a  happy 
and  confident  mood,  for  he  rolled  his  eyes  up- 
ward, exclaiming,  devoutly:  "I'm  a  gift  from 
heaven!  Born  in  a  batteau  and  cradled  on  the 
waves — that's  me!" 

The  Countess  herself  appeared  out  of  the  night 
at  this  moment  and  Pierce  somewhat  reluctantly 
introduced  the  sharper  to  her.  "Here's  an  able 
seaman  in  search  of  a  job,"  said  he. 

"Able  seaman?"  The  woman  raised  her  brows 
inquiringly. 

"He  said  it."  Mr.  Broad  nodded  affirmatively. 
"I'm  a  jolly  tar,  a  bo'sun's  mate,  a  salt-horse 
wrangler.  I  just  jumped  a  full-rigged  ship— 
thimble-rigged!"  He  winked  at  Phillips  and 

104 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

thrust  his  tongue  into  his  cheek.  "Here's  my 
papers."  From  his  shirt  pocket  he  took  a  book 
of  brown  rice-papers  and  a  sack  of  tobacco,  then 
deftly  fashioned  a  tiny  cigarette. 

"Roll  one  for  me,"  said  the  Countess. 

"  Why,  sure!"  Mr.  Broad  obliged  instantly  and 
with  a  flourish. 

"Are  you  really  a  boatman?"  the  woman  in- 
quired. "Don't  stall,  for  I'll  find  you  out." 
Pierce  undertook  to  get  her  eye,  but  she  was  re- 
garding Broad  intently  and  did  not  see  his  signal. 

"I'm  all  of  that,"  the  latter  said,  seriously. 

"I'm  going  to  move  this  outfit  in  small  boats, 
two  men  to  a  boat,  double  crews  through  the 
canon  and  in  swift  water.  Can  you  get  a  good 
man  to  help  you?" 

"He's  yours  for  the  askin' — Kid  Bridges. 
Ain't  his  name  enough?  He's  a  good  packer, 
too;  been  packin'  hay  for  two  months.  Pierce 
knows  him."  Again  Mr.  Broad  winked  meaningly 
at  Phillips. 

"Come  and  see  me  to-morrow,"  said  the 
Countess. 

Lucky  nodded  agreement  to  this  arrangement. 
"Why  don't  you  load  the  whole  works  on  a  scow?" 
he  asked.  "You'd  save  men  and  we  could  all  be 
together — happy  family  stuff.  That's  what  Kir- 
by's  going  to  do." 

"Kirby?" 

"Sam  Kirby.  'One-armed'  Kirby — you  know. 
He  got  in  to-day  with  a  big  liquor  outfit.  Him  and 
his  gal  are  down  at  the  Ophir  now,  playing  faro." 

105 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"No  scow  for  mine,"  the  Countess  said,  posi- 
tively. "I  know  what  I'm  doing." 

After  the  visitor  had  gone  Pierce  spoke  his 
mind,  albeit  with  some  hesitancy.  "That  fellow 
is  a  gambler,"  said  he,  "and  Kid  Bridges  is  an- 
other. Bridges  held  my  hand  for  a  minute,  the 
day  I  landed,  and  his  little  display  of  tenderness 
cost  me  one  hundred  and  thirty-five  dollars.  Do 
you  think  you  want  to  hire  them?" 

"Why  not?"  the  Countess  inquired.  Then, 
with  a  smile,  "They  won't  hold  my  hand,  and 
they  may  be  very  good  boatmen  indeed."  She 
dropped  her  cigarette,  stepped  upon  it,  then  re- 
sumed her  labors. 

Phillips  eyed  the  burnt-offering  with  disfavor. 
Until  just  now  he  had  not  known  that  his  em- 
ployer used  tobacco,  and  the  discovery  came  as 
a  shock.  He  had  been  reared  in  a  close  home- 
circle,  therefore  he  did  not  approve  of  women 
smoking;  hi  particular  he  disapproved  of  the 
Countess,  his  Countess,  smoking.  After  a  mo- 
ment of  consideration,  however,  he  asked  himself 
what  good  reason  there  could  be  for  his  feeling. 
It  was  her  own  affair;  why  shouldn't  a  woman 
smoke  if  she  felt  like  it?  He  was  surprised  at  the 
unexpected  liberality  of  his  attitude.  This  coun- 
try was  indeed  working  a  change  in  him;  he  was 
broadening  rapidly.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  as- 
sured himself,  the  Countess  Courteau  was  an 
exceptional  woman;  she  was  quite  different 
from  the  other  members  of  her  sex  and  the 
rules  of  decorum  which  obtained  for  them  did 

106 


THE   WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

not  obtain  for  her.     She  was  one  hi  ten 
sand,  one  hi  a  million.    Yes,  and  he  was  "her 
man." 

While  he  was  snatching  a  bit  of  midnight  sup- 
per Pierce  again  heard  the  name  of  Kirby  men- 
tioned, and  a  reference  to  the  big  game  in  progress 
at  the  Ophir.  Recalling  Lucky  Broad's  words, 
he  wondered  if  it  were  possible  that  Kirby  and 
his  girl  were  indeed  the  father  and  daughter  who 
had  applied  at  the  Northern  for  shelter.  It 
seemed  incredible  that  a  young  woman  of  such 
apparent  refinement  could  be  a  gambler's  daughter, 
but  if  it  were  true  she  was  not  only  the  daughter 
of  a  "sporting  man,"  but  a  very  notorious  one, 
judging  from  general  comment.  Prompted  by 
curiosity,  Pierce  dropped  in  at  the  Ophir  on  his 
way  back  to  work.  He  found  the  place  crowded, 
as  usual,  but  especially  so  at  the  rear,  where 
the  games  were  running.  When  he  had  edged 
his  way  close  enough  to  command  a  view  of 
the  faro-table  he  discovered  that  Sam  Kirby  was, 
for  a  fact,  the  one-armed  man  he  had  met  during 
the  afternoon.  He  was  seated,  and  close  at  his 
back  was  the  gray-eyed,  brown-haired  girl  with 
the  pleasant  voice.  She  was  taking  no  active 
part  in  the  game  itself  except  to  watch  the  wagers 
and  the  cases  carefully.  Now  and  then  her  father 
addressed  a  low-spoken  word  to  her  and  she  an- 
swered \rtli  a  nod,  a  smile,  or  a  shake  of  her 
head.  She  was  quite  at  ease,  quite  at  home;  she 
was  utterly  oblivious  to  the  close-packed  ring  of 
spectators  encircling  the  table. 
8  107 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

The  sight  amazed  Phillips.  He  was  shocked; 
he  was  mildly  angered  and  mildly  amused  at  the 
false  impression  this  young  woman  had  given.  It 
seemed  that  his  judgment  of  female  types  was 
exceedingly  poor. 

"Who  is  Mr.  Kirby?"  he  inquired  of  his  near- 
est neighbor. 

" Big  sport.  He's  rich — or  he  was;  I  heard  he 
just  lost  a  string  of  race-horses.  He  makes  a 
fortune  and  he  spends  it  overnight.  He's  on  his 
way  l inside'  now  with  a  big  saloon  outfit.  That's 
Letty,  his  girl." 

Another  man  laughed  under  his  breath,  saying : 
"Old  Sam  won't  bet  a  nickel  unless  she's  with 
him.  He's  superstitious." 

' '  I  guess  he  has  reason  to  be.  She's  his  rudder, ' ' 
the  first  speaker  explained. 

Mr.  Kirby  rapped  sharply  upon  the  table  with 
the  steel  hook  that  served  as  his  left  band,  then, 
when  a  waiter  cleared  a  passageway  through  the 
crowd,  he  mutely  invited  the  house  employees  to 
drink.  The  dealer  declined,  the  lookout  and  the 
case-keeper  ordered  whisky,  and  Kirby  signified 
by  a  nod  that  the  same  would  do  for  him.  But 
his  daughter  laid  a  hand  upon  his  arm.  He 
argued  with  her  briefly,  then  he  shrugged  and 
changed  his  order. 

"Make  it  a  cigar,"  he  said,  witn  a  smile. 
"Boss's  orders." 

There  was  a  ripple  of  laughter. 

"Sam's  a  bad  actor  when  he's  drinking,"  one 
of  Pierce's  informants  told  him.  "Letty  keeps 

108 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

him  pretty  straight,  but  once  in  a  while  he  gets 
away.  When  he  does — oh,  boy!" 

Long  after  he  had  returned  to  his  tasks  the 
memory  of  that  still-faced  girl  in  the  foul,  tobacco- 
laden  atmosphere  of  the  gambling-hall  remained 
to  bother  Pierce  Phillips;  he  could  not  get  over 
his  amazement  and  his  annoyance  at  mistaking 
her  for  a — well,  for  a  good  girl. 

Early  in  the  morning,  when  he  wearily  went 
forth  in  quest  of  breakfast  and  a  bed,  he  learned 
that  the  game  at  the  Ophir  was  still  going  on. 

"I  want  you  to  hire  enough  packers  to  take 
this  stuff  over  in  one  trip — two  at  the  most. 
Engage  all  you  can.  Offer  any  price."  The 
Countess  was  speaking.  She  had  snatched  a  few 
hours'  sleep  and  was  now  back  at  the  hotel  as 
fresh  as  ever. 

"You  must  take  more  rest,"  Pierce  told  her. 
''You'll  wear  yourself  out  at  this  rate." 

She  smiled  brightly  and  shook  her  head,  but 
he  persisted.  "Go  back  to  sleep  and  let  me  at- 
tend to  the  work.  I'm  strong;  nothing  tires 
me." 

"Nor  me.  I'll  rest  when  we  get  to  Dawson. 
Hava  those  packers  here  day  after  to-morrow 
morning." 

There  were  numerous  freighters  in  Dyea,  out- 
fits with  animals,  too,  some  of  them,  but  inquiry 
developed  the  fact  that  none  were  free  to  accept 
a  contract  of  this  size  at  such  short  notice,  there- 
fore Pierce  went  to  the  Indian  village  and  asked 

109 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

for  the  chief.  Failing  to  discover  the  old  man,  he 
began  a  tent-to-tent  search,  and  while  so  engaged 
he  stumbled  upon  Joe  McCaskey. 

The  outcast  was  lying  on  a  bed  of  boughs;  his 
face  was  flushed  and  his  eyes  were  bright  with 
fever.  Evidently,  in  avoiding  the  town  he  had 
sought  shelter  here  and  the  natives  had  taken 
him  in  without  question. 

Overcoming  his  first  impulse  to  quietly  with- 
draw, Pierce  bent  down  to  the  fellow  and  said, 
with  genuine  pity:  "I'm  sorry  for  you,  Joe.  Is 
there  anything  I  can  do?" 

McCaskey  stared  up  at  him  wildly;  then  a 
light  of  recognition  kindled  hi  his  black  eyes. 
It  changed  to  that  baleful  gleam  of  hatred.  His 
hair  lay  low  upon  his  forehead  and  through  it  he 
glared.  His  face  was  covered  with  a  smut  of 
beard  which  made  him  even  more  repellent. 

"I  thought  you  were  Jim,"  he  croaked.  "But 
Jim's — dead." 

"You're  sick.  Can  I  help  you?  Do  you  want 
money  or — " 

"Jim's  dead,"  the  man  repeated.  "You  killed 
him!" 

"I?    Nonsense.    Don't  talk—" 

"You  killed  him.  You!"  McCaskey's  un- 
blinking stare  became  positively  venomous;  he 
showed  his  teeth  in  a  frightful  grin.  "You  killed 
him.  But  there's  more  of  us.  Plenty  more. 
We'll  get  you."  He  appeared  to  derive  a  ferocious 
enjoyment  from  this  threat,  for  he  dwelt  upon  it. 

He  began  to  curse  his  visitor  so  foully  that  Pierce 

110 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

backed  out  of  the  tent  and  let  the  flap  fall.  It 
had  been  an  unwelcome  encounter;  it  left  an  un- 
pleasant taste  in  his  mouth. 

As  he  went  on  in  search  of  the  village  shaman 
he  heard  Joe  muttering:  "Jim's  dead!  Dead! 
Jim's  dead!" 


CHAPTER  VII 

SAM  KIRBY'S  outfit  was  one  of  the  largest, 
one  of  the  costliest,  and  one  of  the  most  com- 
plete that  had  ever  been  landed  on  the  Dyea 
beach,  for  Kirby  was  a  man  who  did  things  in  a 
large  way.  He  was  a  plunger;  he  had  long  since 
become  case-hardened  to  risks  and  he  knew  how 
to  weigh  probabilities;  hence  the  fact  that  he 
had  staked  his  all  upon  one  throw  did  not  in  the 
least  disturb  him.  Many  a  time  he  had  done 
the  same  and  the  dice  had  never  failed  to  come 
out  for  him.  Possessing  a  wide  practical  knowl- 
edge of  new  countries,  he  had  shrewdly  estimated 
the  Klondike  discovery  at  its  true  worth  and  had 
realized  that  the  opportunity  for  a  crowning 
triumph,  a  final  clean-up,  had  come  his  way. 
This  accounted  for  the  energetic  manner  in  which 
he  had  set  about  improving  it. 

Most  men  are  successful  in  direct  proportion 
to  their  ability  to  select  and  retain  capable  assist- 
ants. Fortune  had  favored  Sam  Kirby  by  pre- 
senting him  with  a  daughter  whose  caution  and 
good  sense  admirably  supplemented  his  own  best 
qualities,  and  he  was  doubly  blessed  in  possessing 
the  intense,  nay,  the  ferocious,  loyalty  of  one 

112 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Danny  Royal,  a  dependable  retainer  who  had 
graduated  from  various  minor  positions  into  a 
sort  of  castellan,  an  Admirable  Crichton,  a  good 
left  hand  to  replace  that  missing  member  which 
Kirby  had  lost  during  the  white-hot  climax  of  a 
certain  celebrated  feud — a  feud,  by  the  way, 
which  had  added  a  notch  to  the  ivory  handle  of 
Sam's  famous  six-shooter.  This  Danny  Royal 
was  all  things.  He  could  take  any  shift  in  a 
gambling-house,  he  was  an  accomplished  fixer, 
he  had  been  a  jockey  and  had  handled  the  Kirby 
string  of  horses.  He  was  a  miner  of  sorts,  too, 
having  superintended  the  Rouletta  Mine  during 
its  brief  and  prosperous  history;  as  a  trainer  he 
was  without  a  peer.  He  had  made  book  on 
many  tracks;  he  it  was  who  had  brought  out  the 
filly  Rouletta,  Sam  Kirby's  best-known  thorough- 
bred, and ' '  mopped  up  "  with  her.  Both  mine  and 
mare  Danny  had  named  after  Kirby's  girl,  and 
under  Danny's  management  both  had  been  quick 
producers.  All  in  all,  Royal  was  considered  by 
those  who  knew  him  best  as  a  master  of  many 
trades  and  a  Jack  of  none.  He  was  an  irreligious 
man,  but  he  possessed  a  code  which  he  lived  up 
to  strictly;  epitomized  it  ran  as  follows,  "Sam 
Kirby's  will  be  done!"  He  believed  in  but  one 
god,  and  that  Rouletta  Kirby  was  his  profit. 

Equipped  with  the  allegiance  of  such  a  man  as 
Royal,  together  with  several  tons  of  high-proof 
spirits,  a  stock  of  oase-goods  and  cigars,  some 
gambling  paraphernalia,  and  a  moderate  bank  roll 
with  which  to  furnish  the  same,  old  Sam  felt  safe 

113 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

in  setting  out  for  any  country  where  gold  was 
mined  and  where  the  trails  were  new. 

Of  course  he  took  his  daughter  with  him. 
Sooner  than  leave  her  behind  he  would  have 
severed  his  remaining  hand.  Rouletta  and  Agnes, 
they  constituted  the  foundation  upon  which  the 
Kirby  fortunes  rested,  they  were  the  rocks  to 
which  Sam  clung,  they  were  his  assets  and  his 
liabilities,  his  adjuncts  and  his  adornments. 
Agnes  was  his  gun. 

Having  seen  his  freight  safely  ashore,  Kirby 
left  Royal  in  charge  of  it,  first  impressing  upon 
him  certain  comprehensive  and  explicit  instruc- 
tions; then  he  and  Rouletta  and  Agnes  went  up 
the  trail  and  over  the  Chilkoot.  Somehow,  be- 
tween the  three  of  them,  they  intended  to  have 
a  scow  built  and  ready  wThen  Danny  landed  the 
last  pound  of  merchandise  at  Linderman. 

Mr.  Royal  was  an  energetic  little  person.  He 
began  an  immediate  hunt  for  packers,  only  to  dis- 
cover that  another  outfit  was  ahead  of  his  and 
that  no  men  were  immediately  available.  He 
was  resourceful,  he  was  in  the  habit  of  meeting 
and  overcoming  obstacles,  hence  this  one  did  not 
greatly  trouble  him,  once  he  became  acquainted 
with  the  situation. 

Two  days  and  nights  enabled  the  Countess 
Courteau  to  strip  the  Northern  Hotel,  to  assemble 
the  movable  appurtenances  thereto,  and  to  pack 
them  into  boxes,  bales,  and  bundles,  none  of 
which  weighed  more  than  one  hundred  pounds. 
This  lapse  of  time  likewise  enabled  the  Indians 

114 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

whom.  Pierce  had  hired  to  finish  their  contracts 
and  return  to  the  coast.  In  spite  of  the  appalling 
amount  of  freight,  Pierce  believed  he  had  enough 
men  to  move  it  in  two  trips,  and  when  the  hour 
came  to  start  the  Countess  complimented  him 
upon  his  thorough  preparations.  As  swiftly  as 
might  be  he  formed  his  packers  in  line,  weighed 
their  burdens,  and  sent  them  on  their  journey. 
These  preparations  occasioned  much  confusion 
and  a  considerable  crowd  assembled.  Among  the 
onlookers  was  a  bright-eyed,  weazened  little  man 
who  attached  himself  to  the  chief  and  engaged 
him  in  conversation. 

When  the  last  burden-bearer  had  departed  the 
Countess  directed  Lucky  Broad  and  Kid  Bridges 
to  stay  in  the  hotel  and  stand  guard  over  the 
remainder  of  her  goods. 

"Take  six-hour  shifts,"  she  told  them.  "I'll 
hold  you  responsible  for  what's  here." 

"It's  as  safe  as  wheat,"  Broad  assured  her. 

"I'll  camp  at  the  Scales  with  the  stuff  that  has 
gone  forward,  and  Pierce  will  bring  the  Indians 
back." 

"D'you  think  you  can  ride  herd  on  it?"  Bridges 
inquired.  "I  understand  there's  a  lawless  ele- 
ment at  large." 

The  Countess  smiled.  "I'm  sort  of  a  lawless 
element  myself  when  I  start,"  she  said.  Her 
eyes  twinkled  as  she  measured  Mr.  Bridges'  burly 
proportions.  "  You're  going  to  miss  your  alfalfa 
bed  before  I  get  you  to  Linderman." 

The  Kid  nodded  seriously.     "I  know,"   said 

115 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

he.  "  Serves  me  right  for  quittin'  a  profession  for 
a  trade,  but  I  got  to  look  over  this  Dawson  place. 
They  say  it's  soft  pickin'.  Lucky  is  taking  his 
stock  in  trade  along,  all  three  of  'em,  so  maybe 
we'll  tear  off  a  penny  or  two  on  the  way." 

Pierce' s  pack  consisted  of  a  tent  for  the  Count- 
ess, some  bedding,  and  food;  with  this  on  his 
back  he  and  his  employer  set  out  to  overtake 
their  tram.  This  they  accomplished  a  short  dis- 
tance below  the  first  crossing  of  the  river.  Already 
the  white  packers,  of  whom  there  were  perhaps 
a  score,  had  drawn  together;  the  Indians  were  fol- 
lowing them  in  a  long  file.  Having  seen  his  com- 
panion safely  across  the  stream,  Pierce  asked  her, 
somewhat  doubtfully: 

"Do  you  think  Broad  and  his  partner  are  alto- 
gether trustworthy?" 

"Nobody  is  that,"  she  told  him.  "But  they're 
at  least  intelligent.  In  this  kind  of  a  country  I 
prefer  an  intelligent  crook  to  an  honest  fool. 
Most  people  are  honest  or  dishonest  when  and 
as  they  think  it  is  to  their  advantage  to  be  so. 
Those  men  want  to  get  to  Dawson,  and  they 
know  the  Police  would  never  let  them  across  the 
line.  I'm  their  only  chance.  They'll  stand 
assay." 

It  was  mid-forenoon  when  the  Countess  halted 
Pierce,  who  was  a  short  distance  ahead  of  her, 
saying:  "Wait!  Didn't  you  hear  somebody  call- 
ing us?" 

They  listened.  They  were  about  to  move  on- 
ward when  there  came  a  faint  hallo,  and  far  down 

116 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

tiie  trail  behind  them  they  saw  a  figure  approach- 
ing. After  a  moment  of  scrutiny  Pierce  declared: 

"  Why,  it's  Broad!" 

"Something  has  happened!"  The  Countess 
stepped  upon  a  fallen  log  and  through  her  cupped 
palms  sent  forth  an  answering  call.  Mr.  Broad 
waved  his  hat  and  broke  into  a  run.  He  was  wet 
with  sweat,  he  was  muddy  and  out  of  breath, 
when  he  finally  overtook  them. 

"Whew!"  he  panted.  "Thought  I'd  never  run 
you  down.  Well,  set  yourselves." 

"What's  wrong?"  demanded  the  woman. 

"Plenty.  You've  been  double-crossed,  whip- 
sawed.  Your  noble  red  men  have  quit  you;  they 
dumped  your  stuff  at  the  river  and  made  a  deal 
at  double  rates  to  move  Sam  Kirby's  freight. 
They're  back  in  Dyea  now,  the  whole  works." 

The  Countess  Courteau  exploded  with  a  man's 
>t>ath.  Her  face  was  purple;  her  eyes  were  blazing. 

"Danny  Royal,  Kirby's  man,  done  it.  Sam's 
gone  on  to  Linderman  to  build  a  boat.  I  saw 
Danny  curled  up  on  the  chief's  ear  while  you 
were  loading.  After  you'd  gone  him  and  the  old 
pirate  followed.  Me  'n'  Bridges  never  thought 
anything  about  it  until  by  and  by  back  came  the 
whole  party,  empty.  Danny  trooped  'em  down 
to  the  beach  and  begun  packin'  'em.  I  know  him, 
so  I  asked  him  what  the  devil.  'Hands  off!'  says 
he.  'Sam  Kirby's  got  a  rush  order  in  ahead  of 
yours,  and  these  refreshments  is  going  through 
by  express.  I've  raised  your  ante.  Money  no 
object,  understand?  I'll  boost  the  price  again  if 

117 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

I  have  to,  and  keep  on  boosting  it.'  Then  he 
warned  me  not  to  start  anything  or  he'd  tack 
two  letters  onto  the  front  of  my  name.  He'd 
do  it,  too.  I  took  it  on  the  run,  and  here  I  am." 

"  Sam  Kirby,  eh?"  The  Countess'  flaming  rage 
had  given  place  to  a  cool,  calculating  anger. 

Pierce  protested  violently.  "I  hired  those  Ind- 
ians. We  agreed  on  a  price  and  everything  was 
settled." 

"Well,  Danny  unsettled  it.  They're  workin' 
for  him  and  he  intends  to  keep  Jem." 

"What  about  our  white  packers?"  the  woman 
inquired  of  Broad. 

"They  must  have  crossed  before  Danny  caught 
up,  or  he'd  have  had  them,  too.  'Money  no  ob- 
ject,' he  said.  I'm  danged  if  I'd  turn  a  trick 
like  that." 

"Where's  our  stuff?" 

"At  the  Crossing." 

The  Countess  turned  back  down  the  trail  and 
Pierce  followed  her.  "I'll  settle  this  Royal,"  he 
declared,  furiously. 

"Danny's  a  bad  boy,"  Lucky  Broad  warned, 
falling  into  step.  "If  old  Sam  told  him  to  hold 
a  buzz-saw  in  his  lap  he'd  do  it.  Maybe  there 
wouldn't  be  much  left  of  Danny,  but  he'd  of 
hugged  it  some  while  he  lasted." 

Little  more  was  said  during  the  swift  return 
to  the  river.  It  was  not  a  pleasant  journey,  for 
the  trail  was  miserable,  the  mud  was  deep,  and 
there  was  a  steady  upward  flow  of  traffic  which  it 
was  necessary  to  stem.  There  were  occasional 

r.s 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

interruptions  to  this  stream,  for  here  and  there 
horses  were  down  and  a  blockade  had  resulted. 
Behind  it  men  lay  propped  against  logs  or  tree- 
trunks,  resting  their  tired  frames  and  listening 
apathetically  to  the  profanity  of  the  horse-owners. 
Rarely  did  any  one  offer  to  lend  a  helping  hand, 
for  each  man's  task  was  equal  to  his  strength. 
In  one  place  a  line  of  steers  stood  belly  deep  in 
the  mire,  waiting  the  command  to  plow  forward. 

Broken  carts,  abandoned  vehicles  of  various 
patterns,  lined  the  way;  there  were  many  swollen 
carcasses  underfoot,  and  not  infrequently  pedes- 
trians crossed  mud-holes  by  stepping  from  one 
to  another,  holding  their  breaths  and  battling 
through  swarms  of  flies.  Much  costly  impedi- 
menta strewed  the  roadside — each  article  a  mile- 
stone of  despair,  a  monument  to  failure.  There 
were  stoves,  camp  furniture,  lumber,  hardware, 
boat  fittings.  The  wreckage  and  the  wastage  of 
the  stampede  were  enormous,  and  every  ounce, 
every  dollar's  worth  of  it,  spoke  mutely  of  blasted 
hopes.  Now  and  then  one  saw  piles  of  provisions, 
some  of  which  had  been  entirely  abandoned. 
The  rains  had  ruined  most  of  them. 

When  the  Countess  came  to  her  freight  she 
paused.  "You  said  Royal  was  loading  his  men 
when  you  left?"  She  faced  Broad  inquiringly. 

"Right!" 

"Then  he'll  soon  be  along.  We'll  wait  here." 
Of  Phillips  she  asked,  "Do  you  carry  a  gun?" 

Pierce  shook  his  head.  "What  are  you  going 
to  do?"  He  could  see  that  she  was  boiling  in- 

119 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

wardly,  and  although  his  own  anger  had  increased 
at  every  moment  during  the  return  journey,  her 
question  caused  him  genuine  apprehension. 

Avoiding  a  direct  answer,  the  woman  said: 
"If  Royal  is  with  the  Indians,  you  keep  your  eye 
on  him.  I  want  to  talk  to  them." 

"Don't  inaugurate  any  violent  measures,"  Mr. 
Broad  cautioned,  nervously.  "Danny's  a  sudden 
sort  of  a  murderer.  Of  course,  if  worse  comes  to 
worst,  I'll  stick,  but — my  rating  in  the  community 
ain't  A  1.  There's  a  lot  of  narrow-minded  church 
members  would  like  to  baptize  me  at  high  tide. 
As  if  that  would  get  their  money  back!" 

A  suggestion  of  a  smile  crept  to  the  Countess' 
lips  and  she  said,  "I  knew  you'd  stick  when  I 
hired  you."  Then  she  seated  herself  upon  a 
box. 

Danny  Royal  did  accompany  his  packers.  He 
did  so  as  a  precaution  against  precisely  such  a, 
coup  as  he  himself  had  engineered,  and  in  order 
to  be  doubly  secure  he  brought  the  head  Indian 
with  him.  The  old  tribesman  had  rebelled  mild- 
ly, but  Royal  had  been  firm,  and  in  consequence 
they  were  the  first  two  to  appear  when  the  pro- 
cession came  out  of  the  woods. 

The  chief  halted  at  sight  of  Phillips,  the  man 
who  had  hired  him  and  his  people,  but  at  a  word 
from  Royal  he  resumed  his  march.  He  averted 
his  eyes,  however,  and  he  held  his  head  low,  show- 
ing that  this  encounter  was  not  at  all  to  his  liking. 
Royal,  on  the  contrary,  carried  off  the  meeting 

easily.     He  grinned  at   Lucky  Broad  and  was 

120 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

about  to  pass  on  when  the  Countess  Courteau 
rose  to  her  feet  and  stepped  into  the  trail. 

"Just  a  minute!"  she  said.  Of  Royal's  com- 
panion she  sternly  demanded,  "  What  do  you 
mean  by  this  trick?" 

The  old  redskin  shot  her  a  swift  glance;  then 
his  face  became  expressionless  and  he  gazed 
stolidly  at  the  river. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  the  woman  repeated,  in 
a  voice  quivering  with  fury. 

"Him  people—  '  the  chief  began,  but  Royal 
spoke  for  him.  Removing  his  hat,  he  made  a 
stiff  little  bow,  then  said,  courteously  enough: 

"I'm  sorry  to  hold  you  up,  ma'am,  but — " 

"You're  not  holding  me  up;  I'm  holding  you 
up,"  the  woman  broke  in.  "What  do  you  take 
me  for,  anyhow?"  She  stared  at  the  white  man 
so  coldly,  there  was  such  authority  and  such 
fixity  of  purpose  in  her  tone  and  her  expression, 
that  his  manner  changed. 

"I'm  on  orders,"  said  he.  "There's  no  use  to 
argue.  I'd  talk  plainer  to  you  if  you  was  a  man." 

But  she  had  turned  her  eyes  to  the  chief  again. 
"You  lying  scoundrel!"  she  cried,  accusingly.  "I 
made  a  straight  deal  with  you  and  your  people  and 
I  agreed  to  your  price.  I'm  not  going  to  let  you 
throw  me  down!" 

The  wooden-faced  object  of  her  attack  became 
inexplicably  stupid;  he  strove  for  words.  "Me 
no  speak  good,"  he  muttered.  "Me  no  savvy — " 

"Perhaps  you'll  savvy  this."  As  the  Countess 
spoke  she  took  from  her  pocket  a  short-barreled 

121 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

revolver,  which  she  cocked  and  presented  in  a 
capable  and  determined  manner  so  close  to  the 
old  native's  face  that  he  staggered  backward, 
fending  off  the  attack.  The  woman  followed  him. 

"Look  here!"  Danny  Royal  exploded.  He 
made  a  movement  with  his  right  hand,  but  Pierce 
Phillips  and  Lucky  Broad  stepped  close  to  him. 
The  former  said,  shortly: 

"If  you  make  a  move  I'll  brain  you!" 

"That's  me,"  seconded  Mr.  Broad.  "Lift  a 
finger,  Danny,  and  we  go  to  the  mat." 

Royal  regarded  the  two  men  searchingly. 
"D'you  think  I'll  let  you  people  stick  me  up?" 
he  queried. 

"You're  stuck  up!"  the  Countess  declared, 
shortly.  "Make  sure  of  this — I'm  not  bluffing. 
I'll  shoot.  Here — you!"  she  called  to  one  of  the 
packers  at  the  rear  of  the  line  who  had  turned 
and  was  making  off.  "Get  back  where  you  were 
and  stay  there."  She  emphasized  this  command 
with  a  wave  of  her  weapon  and  the  Indian  obeyed 
with  alacrity.  "Now  then,  Mr.  Royal,  not  one 
pound  of  Sam  Kirby's  freight  will  these  people 
carry  until  mine  is  over  the  pass.  I  don't  recog- 
nize you  in  this  deal  in  any  way.  I  made  a  bar- 
gam  with  the  chief  and  I'll  settle  it  with  him. 
You  keep  out.  If  you  don't,  my  men  will  attend 
to  you." 

It  was  surprising  what  a  potent  effect  a  firearm 
had  upon  the  aged  shaman.  His  mask  fell  off 
and  his  knowledge  of  the  English  language  was 
magically  refreshed.  He  began  a  perfectly  in- 

122 


THE    WINDS    OF   CHANCE 

telligible  protest  against  the  promiscuous  display 
of  loaded  weapons,  particularly  in  crowded 
localities.  He  was  a  peaceful  man,  the  head  of 
a  peaceful  people,  and  violence  of  any  sort  was 
contrary  to  his  and  their  code.  "This  was  no 
way  in  which  to  settle  a  dispute — " 

"You  think  not,  eh?  Well,  it's  my  way," 
stormed  the  Countess.  "I'll  drop  the  first  man 
who  tries  to  pass.  If  you  think  I  won't,  try  me. 
Go  ahead,  try  me!"  Mr.  Royal  undertook  to 
say  something  more,  but  without  turning  her  head 
the  woman  told  Phillips,  "Knock  him  down  if 
he  opens  his  mouth." 

"Will  I?"  Pierce  edged  closer  to  his  man,  and 
in  his  face  there  was  a  hunger  for  combat  which 
did  not  look  promising  to  the  object  of  his  at- 
tentions. 

Lucky  Broad  likewise  discouraged  the  ex- 
jockey  by  saying,  "If  you  call  her  hand,  Danny, 
I'll  bust  you  where  you're  biggest." 

The  Countess  still  held  the  muzzle  of  her  re- 
volver close  to  the  chief's  body.  Now  she  said, 
peremptorily:  "You're  going  to  end  this  joke 
right  now.  Order  their  packs  off,  quick!" 

This  colloquy  had  been  short,  but,  brief  as  the 
delay  had  been,  it  had  afforded  time  for  new- 
comers to  arrive.  Amazed  at  the  sight  of  a  raging 
woman  holding  an  army  of  red  men  at  bay,  several 
"mushers"  dropped  their  burdens  and  came  run- 
ning forward  to  learn  the  meaning  of  it.  The 
Countess  explained  rapidly,  whereupon  one  ex- 
claimed: 
9  123 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

" Go  to  it,  sister!" 

Another  agreed  heartily.  "When  you  shoot, 
shoot  low.  We'll  see  you  through." 

"I  don't  need  any  assistance,"  she  told  them. 
"They'll  keep  their  agreement  or  they'll  lose  their 
head  man.  Give  the  word,  Chief." 

The  old  redskin  raised  his  voice  in  expostula^ 
tion,  but  one  of  the  late-comers  broke  in  upon  him : 

"Aw,  shut  up,  you  robber!  You're  gettin' 
what  you  need." 

"I'm  going  to  count  three,"  the  woman  said, 
inflexibly.  Her  face  had  grown  very  white;  her 
eyes  were  shining  dangerously.  "At  four  I  shoot. 
One!  Two—!" 

The  wrinkled  Indian  gave  a  sign;  his  tribes- 
men began  to  divest  themselves  of  their  loads. 

"Pile  it  all  up  beside  the  trail.  Now  get  under 
my  stuff  and  don't  let's  have  any  more  nonsense. 
The  old  price  goes  and  I  sha'n't  raise  it  a  penny." 
Turning  to  Danny  Royal,  she  told  him:  "You 
could  have  put  this  over  on  a  man,  but  women 
haven't  any  sense.  I  haven't  a  bit.  Every  cent 
I  own  is  tied  up  in  this  freight  and  it's  going 
through  on  time.  I  think  a  lot  of  it,  and  if  you 
try  to  delay  it  again  I'm  just  foolish  enough  to 
blow  a  hole  in  this  savage — and  you,  too.  Yes, 
and  a  miners'  meeting  would  cheer  me  for  doing  it." 

There  was  a  silence;  then  Mr.  Royal  inquired: 
"Are  you  waiting  for  me  to  speak?  Well,  all  I've 
got  to  say  is  if  the  James  boys  had  had  a  sister 
they'd  of  been  at  work  yet.  I  don't  know  how 
to  tackle  a  woman." 

124 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Are  you  going  to  keep  hands  off?" 

''Sure!  I'm  licked.  You  went  about  it  in  the 
right  way.  You  got  me  tied." 

"I  don't  know  whether  you're  lying  or  not. 
But  just  to  make  sure  I'm  going  to  have  Lucky 
walk  back  to  town  with  you  to  see  that  you  don't 
get  turned  around." 

Danny  removed  his  hat  and  made  a  sweeping 
bow;  then  he  departed  in  company  with  his  es- 
cort. The  Indians  took  up  those  burdens  which 
they  had  originally  shouldered,  and  the  inarch 
to  the  Chilkoot  was  resumed.  Now,  however, 
the  Countess  Courteau  brought  up  the  rear  of 
the  procession  and  immediately  in  advance  of 
her  walked  the  head  man  of  the  Dyea  tribe. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IT  was  a  still,  clear  morning,  but  autumn  was 
in  the  air  and  a  pale  sun  lacked  the  necessary 
heat  to  melt  a  skin  of  ice  which,  during  the  night, 
had  covered  stagnant  pools.  The  damp  moss 
which  carpets  northern  forests  was  hoary  with 
frost  and  it  crackled  underfoot.  Winter  was  near 
and  its  unmistakable  approach  could  be  plainly  felt. 
A  saw-pit  had  been  rigged  upon  a  sloping  hill- 
side— it  consisted  of  four  posts  about  six  feet  long 
upon  which  had  been  laid  four  stringers,  like  the 
sills  of  a  house;  up  to  this  scaffold  led  a  pair  of 
inclined  skids.  Resting  upon  the  stringers  was  a 
sizable  spruce  log  which  had  been  squared  and 
marked  with  parallel  chalk-lines  and  into  which 
a  whip-saw  had  eaten  for  several  feet.  Balanced 
upon  this  log  was  Tom  Linton;  in  the  sawdust 
directly  under  him  stood  Jerry  Quirk.  Mr.  Lin- 
ton  glared  downward,  Mr.  Quirk  squinted  fiercely 
upward.  Mr.  Linton  showed  his  teeth  in  an  ugly 
grin  and  his  voice  was  hoarse  with  fury;  Mr. 
Quirk's  gray  mustache  bristled  with  rage,  and 
anger  had  raised  his  conversational  tone  to  a  high 
pitch.  Both  men  were  perspiring,  both  were 
shaken  to  the  core. 

126 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Don't  shove!"  Mr.  Quirk  exclaimed,  in  shrill 
irritation.  "How  many  times  d'you  want  me 
to  tell  you  not  to  shove?  You  bend  the  infernal 
thing." 

' '  I  never  shoved, ' '  Linton  said,  thickly.  ' '  May- 
be we'd  do  better  if  you'd  quit  hanging  your  weight 
on  those  handles  every  time  I  lift.  If  you've  got 
to  chin  yourself,  take  a  limb — or  I'll  build  you  a 
trapeze.  You  pull  down,  then  lemme  lift- 
Mr.  Quirk  danced  with  fury.  "Chin  myself? 
Shucks!  You're  petered  out,  that's  what  ails 
you.  You  'ain't  got  the  grit  and  you've  throwed 
up  your  tail.  Lift  her  clean — don't  try  to  saw 
goin'  up,  the  teeth  ain't  set  that  way.  lift,  take 
a  bite,  then  leggo.  Lift,  bite,  leggo.  Lift,  bite — " 
"Don't  say  that  again!"  shouted  Linton.  "I'm 
a  patient  man,  but — '  He  swallowed  hard,  then 
with  difficulty  voiced  a  solemn,  vibrant  warning, 
"Don't  say  it  again,  that's  all!" 

Defiance   instantly   flamed  in  Jerry's   watery 
eyes.     "I'll  say  it  if  I  want  to!"  he  yelled.     "I'll 
say  anything  I  feel  like  sayin' !    Some  folks  can't 
understand  English;  some  folks  have  got  lignum- 
vity  heads  p,nd  you  have  to  tell  'em — " 
"You  couldn't  tell  me  anything!" 
"Sure!    That's  just   the  trouble  with   you — 
nobody  can  tell  you  anything!" 

"I  whip-sawed  before  you  was  born!" 

Astonishment  momentarily  robbed  Mr.  Quirk 

of  speech,  then  he  broke  out  more  indignantly 

than   ever.     "Why,   you   lyin'   horse-thief,   you 

never  heard  of  a  whip-saw  till  we  bought  our 

127 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

outfit.  You  was  for  tying  one  end  to  a  limb  and 
the  other  end  to  a  root  and  then  rubbin'  the  log 
up  and  down  it." 

"I  never  meant  that.  I  was  fooling  and  you 
know  it.  That's  just  like  you,  to — 

"  Say,  if  you'd  ever  had  holt  of  a  whip-saw  in  all 
your  useless  life,  the  man  on  the  other  end  of  it 
would  have  belted  you  with  the  handle  and  buried 
you  in  the  sawdust.  I'd  ought  to,  but  I  'ain't 
got  the  heart!"  The  speaker  spat  on  his  hands 
and  in  a  calmer,  more  business-like  tone  said: 
"Well,  come  on.  Let's  go.  This  is  our  last 
board." 

Tom  Linton  checked  an  insulting  remark  that 
had  just  occurred  to  him.  It  had  nothing  what- 
ever to  do  with  the  subject  under  dispute,  but  it 
would  have  goaded  Jerry  to  insanity,  therefore  it 
clamored  for  expression  and  the  temptation  to 
hurl  it  forth  was  almost  irresistible.  Linton,  how- 
ever, prided  himself  upon  his  self-restraint,  and 
accordingly  he  swallowed  his  words.  He  clicked 
his  teeth,  he  gritted  them — he  would  have  en- 
joyed sinking  them  into  his  partner's  throat,  as  a 
matter  of  fact — then  he  growled,  "Let  her  whiz!" 

In  unison  the  men  resumed  their  interrupted 
labors;  slowly,  rhythmically,  their  arms  moved  up 
and  down,  monotonously  their  aching  backs  bent 
and  straightened,  inch  by  inch  the  saw  blade  ate 
along  the  penciled  line.  It  was  killing  work,  for  it 
called  into  play  unused,  under-developed  muscles, 
yes,  muscles  which  did  not  and  never  would  or 
could  exist.  Each  time  Linton  lifted  the  saw  it 

128 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

grew  heavier  by  the  fraction  of  a  pound.  When- 
ever Quirk  looked  up  to  note  progress  his  eyes 
were  filled  with  stinging  particles  of  sawdust.  His 
was  a  tearful  job:  sawdust  was  in  his  hair,  his 
beard,  it  had  sifted  down  inside  his  neckband  and 
it  itched  his  moist  body.  It  had  worked  into  his 
underclothes  and  he  could  not  escape  it  even  at 
night  in  his  bed.  He  had  of  late  acquired  the 
habit  of  repeating  over  and  over,  with  a  pertinacity 
intensely  irritating  to  his  partner,  that  he  could 
taste  sawdust  in  his  food — a  statement  manifestly 
false  and  well  calculated  to  offend  a  camp  cook. 

After  they  had  sawed  for  a  while  Jerry  cried: 
"Hey!  She's  runnin'  out  again."  He  accom- 
panied this  remark  by  an  abrupt  cessation  of  ef- 
fort. As  a  result  the  saw  stopped  in  its  downward 
course  and  Tom's  chin  came  into  violent  contact 
with  the  upper  handle. 

The  man  above  uttered  a  cry  of  pain  and  fury; 
he  clapped  a  hand  to  his  face  as  if  to  catch  and 
save  his  teeth. 

Jerry  giggled  with  a  shameless  lack  of  feeling. 
"Spit  'em  out,"  he  cackled.  "They  ain't  no  more 
good  to  you  than  a  mouthful  of  popcorn."  He 
was  not  really  amused  at  his  partner's  mishap; 
on  the  contrary,  he  was  more  than  a  little  con- 
cerned by  it,  but  fatigue  had  rendered  him  ab- 
surdly hysterical,  and  the  constant  friction  of 
mental,  spiritual,  and  physical  contact  with  Tom 
had  fretted  his  soul  as  that  sawdust  inside  his 
clothes  had  fretted  his  body.  ' '  He,  he !  Ho,  ho ! " 
he  chortled.  "You  don't  shove.  Oh  no!  All 

129 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

the  same,  whenever  I  stop  pullin'  you  butt  your 
brains  out." 

"I  didn't  shove!"  The  ferocity  of  this  denial 
was  modified  and  muffled  by  reason  of  the  fact 
that  a  greater  part  of  the  speaker's  hand  was 
inside  his  mouth  and  his  fingers  were  takmg  stock 
of  its  contents. 

"All  right,  you  didn't  shove.  Have  it  your  own 
way.  I  said  she  was  runnin'  out  again.  We  ain't 
cuttin'  wedges,  we're  cuttin'  boat-seats." 

"Well,  why  don't  you  pull  straight?  I  can't 
follow  a  line  with  you  skinning  the  cat  on  your 
end." 

"My  fault  again,  eh?"  Mr.  Quirk  showed  the 
whites  of  his  eyes  and  his  face  grew  purple. 
"Lemme  tell  you  something,  Tom.  I've  studied 
you,  careful,  as  man  and  boy,  for  a  matter  of 
thirty  years,  but  I  never  seen  you  in  all  your 
hideousness  till  this  trip.  I  got  you  now,  though; 
I  got  you  all  added  up  and  subtracted  and  I'll 
tell  you  the  answer.  It's  my  opinion,  backed  by 
figgers,  that  you're  a  dam' — '  He  hesitated, 
then  with  a  herculean  effort  be  managed  to  gulp 
the  remainder  of  his  sentence.  In  a  changed 
voice  he  said:  "Oh,  what's  the  use?  I  s'posb 
you've  got  feelin's.  Come  on,  let's  get  through." 

Linton  peered  down  over  the  edge  of  the  log. 
"It's  your  opinion  I'm  a  what?"  he  inquired,  with 
vicious  calmness. 

"Nothing.  It's  no  use  to  tell  you.  Now  then, 
lift,  bite,  leg—  Why  don't  you  lift?" 

"I  am  lifting.    Leggo  your  end!"    Mr.  Linton 

130 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

tugged  violently,  but  the  saw  came  up  slowly.  It 
rose  and  fell  several  times,  but  with  the  same  feel- 
ing of  dead  weight  attached  to  it.  Tom  wiped 
the  sweat  out  of  his  eyes  and  once  again  in  a 
stormy  voice  he  addressed  his  partner:  "If  you 
don't  get  off  them  handles  I'll  take  a  stick  and 
knock  you  off.  What  you  grinnin'  at?" 

"Why,  she's  stuck,  that's  all.  Drive  your 
wedge —  Jerry's  words  ended  in  an  agonized 
yelp;  he  began  to  paw  blindly.  "You  did  that 
a-purpose." 

"Did  what?" 

"Kicked  sawdust  in  my  eyes.    I  saw  you!" 

Mr.  Linton's  voice  when  he  spoke  held  that 
same  sinister  note  of  restrained  ferocity  which  had 
characterized  it  heretofore.  "When  I  start  kick- 
ing I  won't  kick  sawdust  into  your  eyes!  I'll  kick 
your  eyes  into  that  sawdust.  That's  what  I'll 
do.  I'll  3tomp  'em  out  like  a  pan*  of  grapes." 

"You  try  it!  You  try  anything  with  me," 
Jerry  chattered,  hi  a  simian  frenzy.  "You've  got 
a  bad  reputation  at  home;  you're  a  malo  hombre 
—a  side-winder,  you  are,  and  your  bite  is  certain 
death.  That's  what  they  say.  Well,  ever  see  a 
Mexican  hog  eat  a  rattler?  That's  me — wild 
hog!" 

" '  Wild  hog.'  What's  wild  about  you?"  sneered 
the  other.  "You  picked  the  right  animal  but  the 
wrong  variety.  Any  kind  of  a  hog  makes  a  bad 
partner." 

For  a  time  the  work  proceeded  in  silence,  then 
the  latter  speaker  resumed:  "You  said  I  was 

131 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

a   dam'    something   or   other.    What   was   it?' 
The  object  of  this  inquiry  maintained  an  offen- 
sive, nay  an  insulting,  silence.     "A  what?"  Lin- 
ton  persisted. 

Quirk  looked  up  through  his  mask  of  sawdust. 
"If  you're  gettin'  tired  again  why  doi/t  you  say 
so?  I'll  wait  while  you  rest."  He  opened  his  eyes 
in  apparent  astonishment,  then  he  cried:  "Hello! 
Why,  it's  rainin'." 

"It  ain't  raining,"  Tom  declared. 

"Must  be — your  face  is  wet."  Once  more  the 
speaker  cackled  shrilly  in  a  manner  intended  to 
be  mirthful,  but  which  was  hi  reality  insulting 
beyond  human  endurance.  "I  never  saw  moist- 
ure on  your  brow,  Tom,  except  when  it  rained 
or  when  you  set  too  close  to  a  fire." 

"What  was  it  you  wanted  to  call  me  and  was 
scared  to?"  Mr.  Linton  urged,  venomously.  "A 
dam'  what?" 

"Oh,  I  forget  the  precise  epithet  I  had  in  mind. 
But  a  new  one  rises  to  my  lips  'most  every  min- 
ute. I  think  I  aimed  to  call  you  a  dam'  old  fool. 
Something  like  that." 

Slowly,  carefully,  Mr.  Linton  descended  from 
the  scaffold,  leaving  the  whip-saw  in  its  place. 
He  was  shaking  with  rage,  with  weakness,  and 
with  fatigue. 

"'Old'?  Me  old?  I'm  a  fool,  I  admit,  or  I 
wouldn't  have  lugged  your  loads  and  done  your 
work  the  way  I  have.  But,  you  see,  I'm  strong 
and  vigorous  and  I  felt  sorry  for  a  tottering  wreck 
like  you — " 

132 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

'" Lugged  my  loads'?"  snorted  the  smaller 
man.  "Me  a  wreck?  My  Gawd!" 

" — I  did  your  packing  and  your  washing  and 
your  cooking,  and  mine,  too,  just  because  you 
was  feeble  and  because  I've  got  consideration  for 
my  seniors.  I  was  raised  that  way.  I  honored 
your  age,  Jerry.  I  knew  you  was  about  all  in, 
but  I  never  called  you  old.  I  wouldn't  hurt  your 
feelings.  What  did  you  do?  You  set  around  on 
your  bony  hips  and  criticized  and  picked  at  me. 
But  jou've  picked  my  last  feather  off  and  I'm 
plumb  raw.  Right  here  we  split!" 

Jerry  Quirk  staggered  slightly  and  leaned 
against  a  post  for  support.  His  knees  were  wob- 
bly; he,  too,  ached  in  every  bone  and  muscle; 
he,  too,  had  been  goaded  into  an  insane  tem- 
per, but  that  which  maddened  him  beyond 
expression  was  this  unwarranted  charge  of  in- 
competency. 

"Split  it  is,"  he  agreed.  "That  '11  take  a  load 
off  my  shoulders." 

"We'll  cut  our  grub  fifty-fifty,  then  I'll  hit  you 
a  clout  with  the  traces  and  turn  you  a-loose." 

Jerry  was  still  dazed,  for  his  world  had  come  to 
an  end,  but  he  pretended  to  an  extravagant  joy 
and  managed  to  chirp:  "Good  news — the  first 
I've  had  since  we  went  pardners.  I'll  sure  kick 
up  my  heels.  What'll  we  do  with  the  boat?" 

"Cut  her  in  two." 

"Right.  We'll  toss  up  for  ends.  We'll  divide 
everything  the  same  way,  down  to  the  skillet." 

"Every  blame'  thing,"  Linton  agreed. 

133 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

Side  by  side  they  set  off  heavily  through  the 
woods.' 

Quarrels  similar  to  this  were  of  daily  occur- 
rence on  the  trail,  but  especially  common  were 
they  here  at  Linderman,  for  of  all  the  devices  of 
the  devil  the  one  most  trying  to  human  patience 
is  a  whip-saw.  It  is  a  saying  hi  the  North  that 
to  know  a  man  one  must  eat  a  sack  of  flour  with 
him;  it  is  also  generally  recognized  that  a  part- 
nership which  survives  the  vexations  of  a  saw-pit 
is  time  and  weather  proof — a  predestined  union 
more  sacred  and  more  perfect  even  than  that 
of  matrimony.  Few  indeed  have  stood  the  test. 

It  was  in  this  loosening  of  sentimental  ties, 
in  the  breach  of  friendships  and  the  birth  of 
bitter  enmities,  where  lay  the  deepest  tragedy  of 
the  Chilkoot  and  the  Chilkat  trails.  Under  ordi- 
nary, normal  circumstances  men  of  opposite  tem- 
peraments may  live  with  each  other  in  harmony 
and  die  in  mutual  accord,  but  circumstances  here 
were  extraordinary,  abnormal.  Hardship,  mo- 
notony, fatigue  score  the  very  soul;  constant  close 
association  renders  men  absurdly  petulant  and 
childishly  quarrelsome.  Many  are  the  heart- 
aches charged  against  those  early  days  and  those 
early  trails. 

Of  course  there  was  much  less  internal  friction 
in  outfits  like  Kirby's  or  the  Countess  Courteau's, 
where  the  men  worked  under  orders,  but  even 
there  relations  were  often  strained.  Both  Danny 
Royal  and  Pierce  Phillips  had  had  their  troubles, 
their  problems — nobody  could  escape  them — but 

134 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

on  the  whole  they  had  held  their  men  together 
pretty  well  and  had  made  fast  progress,  all  things 
considered.  Royal  had  experience  to  draw  upon, 
while  Phillips  had  none;  nevertheless,  the  Count- 
ess was  a  good  counselor  and  this  brief  training 
in  authority  was  of  extreme  value  to  the  younger 
man,  who  developed  some  of  the  qualities  of 
leadership.  As  a  result  of  their  frequent  con- 
ferences a  frank,  free  intimacy  had  sprung  up 
between  Pierce  and  his  employer,  an  intimacy 
both  gratifying  and  disappointing  to  him.  Just 
how  it  affected  the  woman  he  could  not  tell.  As 
a  matter  of  fact  he  made  little  effort  to  learn, 
being  for  the  moment  too  deeply  concerned  hi 
the  great  change  that  had  come  over  him. 

Pierce  Phillips  made  no  effort  to  deceive  him- 
self: he  was  in  love,  yes,  desperately  in  love,  and 
his  infatuation  grew  with  every  hour.  It  was  his 
first  serious  affair  and  quite  naturally  its  newness 
took  his  breath.  He  had  heard  of  puppy  love  and 
he  scorned  it,  but  this  was  not  that  kind,  he  told 
himself;  his  was  an  epic  adoration,  a  full-grown, 
deathless  man's  affection  such  as  comes  to  none 
but  the  favored  of  the  gods  and  then  but  once 
in  a  lifetime.  The  reason  was  patent — it  lay  in 
the  fact  that  the  object  of  his  soul-consuming 
worship  was  not  an  ordinary  woman.  No,  the 
Countess  was  cast  in  heroic  mold  and  she  inspired 
love  of  a  character  to  match  her  individuality; 
she  was  one  of  those  rare,  flaming  creatures  the 
like  of  whom  illuminate  the  pages  of  history.  She 
was  another  Cleopatra,  a  regal,  matchless  creature. 

135 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

To  be  sure,  she  was  not  at  all  the  sort  of  woman 
he  had  expected  to  love,  therefore  he  loved  her 
the  more;  nor  was  she  the  sort  he  had  chosen 
as  his  ideal.  But  it  is  this  abandonment  of  old 
ideals  and  acceptance  of  new  ones  which  marks 
development,  which  signalizes  youth's  evolution 
into  maturity.  She  was  a  never-ending  surprise 
to  Pierce,  and  the  fact  that  she  remained  a  well 
of  mystery,  an  unsounded  deep  that  defied  his 
attempts  at  exploration,  excited  his  imagination 
and  led  him  to  clothe  her  with  every  admirable 
trait,  in  no  few  of  which  she  was,  of  course,  en- 
tirely lacking. 

He  was  very  boyish  about  this  love  of  his. 
Lacking  confidence  to  make  known  his  feelings, 
he  undertook  to  conceal  them  and  believed  he 
had  succeeded.  No  doubt  he  had,  so  far  as  the 
men  in  his  party  were  concerned — they  were  far 
too  busy  to  give  thought  to  affairs  other  than  their 
own — but  the  woman  had  marked  his  very  first 
surrender  and  now  read  him  like  an  open  page, 
from  day  to  day.  His  blind,  unreasoning  loyalty, 
his  complete  acquiescence  to  her  desires,  his  ex- 
travagant joy  in  doing  her  will,  would  have  told 
her  the  truth  even  without  the  aid  of  those  numer- 
ous little  things  which  every  woman  understands. 
Now,  oddly  enough,  the  effect  upon  her  was  only 
a  little  less  disturbing  than  upon  him,  for  this 
first  boy-love  was  a  thing  which  no  good  woman 
could  have  treated  lightly:  its  simplicity,  its 
purity,  its  unselfishness  were  different  to  anything 
she  had  known — so  different,  for  instance,  to  that 

136 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

affection  which  Count  Courteau  had  bestowed 
upon  her  as  to  seem  almost  sacred — therefore  she 
watched  its  growth  with  gratification  not  unmixed 
with  apprehension.  It  was  flattering  and  yet  it 
gave  her  cause  for  some  uneasiness. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Phillips  was  boyish  only  in 
this  one  regard;  in  other  things  he  was  very  much 
of  a  man — more  of  a  man  than  any  one  the  Count- 
ess had  met  in  a  long  time — and  she  derived  un- 
usual satisfaction  from  the  mere  privilege  of  de- 
pending upon  him.  This  pleasure  was  so  keen 
at  times  that  she  allowed  her  thoughts  to  take 
strange  shape,  and  was  stirred  by  yearnings,  by 
impulses,  by  foolish  fancies  that  reminded  her  of 
her  girlhood  days. 

The  boat-building  had  proceeded  with  such 
despatch,  thanks  largely  to  Phillips,  that  the  tune 
for  departure  was  close  at  hand,  and  inasmuch 
as  there  still  remained  a  reasonable  margin  of 
safety  the  Countess  began  to  feel  the  first  certainty 
of  success.  While  she  was  not  disposed  to  quarrel 
with  such  a  happy  state  of  affairs,  nevertheless 
one  thing  continued  to  bother  her:  she  could  not 
understand  why  interference  had  failed  to  come 
from  the  Kirby  crowd.  She  had  expected  it,  for 
Sam  Kirby  had  the  name  of  being  a  hard,  con- 
scienceless man,  and  Danny  Royal  had  given 
proof  that  he  was  not  above  resorting  to  desperate 
means  to  gam  time.  Why,  therefore,  they  had 
made  no  effort  to  hire  her  men  away  from  her, 
especially  as  men  were  almost  unobtainable  here 

at  Linderman,  was  something  that  baffled  her. 

137 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

She  had  learned  by  bitter  experience  to  put  trust 
in  no  man,  and  this,  coupled  perhaps  with  the 
natural  suspicion  of  her  sex,  combined  to  excite  her 
liveliest  curiosity  and  her  deepest  concern;  she 
could  not  overcome  the  fear  that  this  unspoken 
truce  concealed  some  sinister  design. 

Feeling,  this  afternoon,  a  strong  desire  to  see 
with  her  own  eyes  just  what  progress  her  rivals 
were  making,  she  called  Pierce  away  from  his  work 
and  took  him  with  her  around  the  shore  of  the 
lake. 

"Our  last  boat  will  be  in  the  water  to-morrow," 
he  told  her.  "Kirby  can't  hold  us  up  now,  if  he 
tries." 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said,  doubtfully.  "He  is 
as  short-handed  as  we  are.  I  can't  understand 
why  he  has  left  us  alone  so  long." 

Phillips  laughed.  "He  probably  knows  it  isn't 
safe  to  trifle  with  you." 

The  Countess  shook  her  head.  "I  couldn't 
bluff  him.  He  wouldn't  care  whether  I'm  a 
woman  or  not." 

"Were  you  bluffing  when  you  held  up  Royal? 
I  didn't  think  so." 

"I  don't  think  so,  either.  There's  no  telling 
what  I  might  have  done — I  have  a  furious  temper." 

"That's  nothing  to  apologize  for,"  the  young 
man  declared,  warmly.  "It's  a  sign  of  character, 
force.  I  hope  I  never  have  reason  to  feel  it." 

"You?  How  absurd!  You've  been  perfectly 
dear.  You  couldn't  be  otherwise." 

"Do  you  think  so,  really?    I'm  awfully  glad." 

138 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

The  Countess  was  impelled  to  answer  this 
boy's  eagerness  by  telling  him  frankly  just  how 
well  she  thought  of  him,  just  how  grateful  she 
was  for  all  that  he  had  done,  but  she  restrained 
herself. 

"All  the  fellows  have  been  splendid,  especially 
those  two  gamblers,"  she  said,  coolly.  After  a 
moment  she  continued:  "Don't  stop  when  we  get 
to  Kirby's  camp.  I  don't  want  him  to  think 
we're  curious." 

Neither  father  nor  daughter  was  in  evidence 
when  the  visitors  arrived  at  their  destination,  but 
Danny  Royal  was  superintending  the  final  work 
upon  a  stout  scow  the  seams  of  which  were  being 
calked  and  daubed  with  tar.  Mast  and  sweeps 
were  being  rigged;  Royal  himself  was  painting 
a  name  on  the  stern. 

At  sight  of  the  Countess  the  ex-horseman 
dropped  his  brush  and  thrust  his  hands  aloft,  ex- 
claiming, "Don't  shoot,  ma'am!"  His  grin  was 
friendly;  there  was  no  rancor  in  his  voice.  "How 
you  gettin'  along  down  at  your  house?"  he  in- 
quired. 

"Very  well,"  the  Countess  told  him. 

"We'll  get  loaded  to-morrow,"  said  Pierce. 

"Same  here,"  Royal  advised.  "Better  come 
to  the  launching.  Ain't  she  a  bear?"  He  gazed 
fondly  at  the  bluff-bowed,  ungainly  barge.  "I'm 
goin'  to  bust  a  bottle  of  wine  on  her  nose  when 
she  wets  her  feet.  First  rainy-weather  hack  we 
ever  had  in  the  family.  Her  name's  Rouletta." 

"I  hope  she  has  a  safe  voyage." 

10  139 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Royal  eyed  the  speaker  meditatively.  "This 
trip  has  got  my  goat,"  he  acknowledged.  "  Water's 
all  right  when  it's  cracked  up  and  put  in  a  glass, 
but — it  ain't  meant  to  build  roads  with.  I've 
heard  a  lot  about  this  canon  and  them  White 
Horse  Rapids.  Are  they  bad?"  When  the  Count- 
ess nodded,  his  weazened  face  darkened  visibly. 
"Gimme  a  horse  and  I'm  all  right,  but  water 
scares  me.  Well,  the  Rouletta's  good  and  strong 
and  I'm  goin'  to  christen  her  with  a  bottle  of  real 
champagne.  If  there's  anything  in  good  liquor 
and  a  good  name  she'll  be  a  lucky  ship." 

When  they  were  out  of  hearing  the  Countess 
Courteau  repeated:  "I  don't  understand  it. 
They  could  have  gained  a  week." 

"We  could,  too,  if  we'd  built  one  scow  instead 
of  those  small  boats,"  Pierce  declared. 

"Kirby  is  used  to  taking  chances;  he  can  risk 
all  his  eggs  in  one  basket  if  he  wants  to,  but — not 
I."  A  moment  later  the  speaker  paused  to  stare 
at  a  curious  sight.  On  the  beach  ahead  of  her 
stood  a  brand-new  rowboat  ready  for  launching. 
Near  it  was  assembled  an  outfit  of  gear  and  pro- 
visions, divided  into  two  equal  piles.  Two  old 
men,  armed  each  with  a  hand-saw,  were  silently 
at  work  upon  the  skiff.  They  were  sawing  it  hi 
two,  exactly  in  the  middle,  and  they  did  not  look 
up  until  the  Countess  greeted  them. 

"Hello!  Changing  the  model  of  your  boat?" 
she  inquired. 

The  partners  straightened  themselves  stiffly 
and  removed  their  caps. 

140 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Yep!"  said  Quirk,  avoiding  his  partner's 
eyes. 

"  Changing  her  model,"  Mr.  Linton  agreed,  with 
a  hangdog  expression. 

"But— why?    What  for?" 

"We've  split,"  Mr.  Quirk  explained.  Then  he 
heaved  a  sigh.  "It's  made  a  new  man  of  me 
a'ready." 

"My  end  will  look  all  right  when  I  get  her 
boarded  up,"  Linton  vouchsafed,  "but  Old  Jerry 
drew  the  hind  quarters."  His  shoulders  heaved 
in  silent  amusement. 

"'Old'  Jerry!"  snapped  the  smaller  man. 
"Where'd  you  get  the  'old'  at?  I've  acted  like 
a  feeble-minded  idiot,  I'll  admit — bein'  imposed 
on  so  regular — but  that's  over  and  I'm  breathhV 
free.  Wait  till  you  shove  off  in  that  front  end; 
it  'ain't  got  the  beam  and  you'll  upset.  Ha!" 
He  uttered  a  malicious  bark.  "You'll  drownd!" 
Mr.  Quirk  turned  indignant  eyes  upon  the  visitors. 
"The  idea  of  him  callin'  me  'old.'  Can  you  beat 
that?" 

"Maybe  I  will  drown,"  Linton  agreed,  "but 
drowning  ain't  so  bad.  It's  better  than  being 
picked  and  pecked  to  death  by  a  blunt-billed 
buzzard.  I'd  look  on  it  as  a  kind  of  relief.  Any- 
how, you  won't  be  there  to  see  it;  you'll  be  dead 
of  rheumatism.  I've  got  the  tent." 

"Huh!    The  stove's  mine.     I'll  make  out." 

"Have  you  men  quarreled  after  all  these  years?" 
the  Countess  made  bold  to  inquire. 

Jerry  answered,  and  it  was  plain  that  ail  senti- 

141 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

ment  had  been  consumed  in  the  fires  of  his  present 
wrath.  "I  don't  quarrel  with  a  dam'  old  fool; 
I  give  him  his  way." 

Linton's  smoky  eyes  were  blazing  when  he 
cried,  furiously:  "Cut  that  'old'  out,  or  I'll  show 
you  something.  Your  mind's  gone — senile  de- 
cay, they  call  it— but  I'll—" 

Quirk  flung  down  his  saw  and  advanced  bel- 
ligerently around  the  hull  of  the  boat.  He  was 
bristling  with  the  desire  for  combat. 

"What  '11  you  show  me?"  he  shrilly  challenged. 
"You're  bigger  than  me,  but  I'll  cut  you  down: 
I'll—" 

The  Countess  stepped  between  the  two  men, 
crying,  impatiently: 

"Don't  be  silly.  You're  worn  out  and  irritable, 
both  of  you,  and  you're  acting  like  perfect  idiots. 
You'll  have  everybody  laughing  at  you." 

Jerry  diverted  his  fury  to  this  intermediary. 
"Is  that  so?"  he  mocked.  "Well,  let  'em  laugh; 
it  '11  do  'em  good.  You're  a  nice  woman,  but  this 
ain't  ladies'  day  at  our  club  and  we  don't  need 
no  outside  advice  on  how  to  run  our  party." 

"Oh,  very  well!"  The  Countess  shrugged  and 
turned  away,  motioning  Pierce  to  follow  her. 
"Fight  it  out  to  suit  yourselves." 

Quirk  muttered  something  about  the  insolence 
of  strangers;  then  he  picked  up  his  saw.  In 
silence  the  work  was  resumed,  and  later,  when  the 
boat  had  been  divided,  each  man  set  about  board- 
ing up  and  calking  the  open  end  of  his  respective 
half.  Neither  of  them  was  expert  in  the  use  of 

142 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

carpenter's  tools,  therefore  it  was  supper-time 
before  they  finished,  and  the  result  of  their  labor 
was  nothing  to  be  proud  of.  Each  now  possessed 
a  craft  that  would  float,  no  doubt,  but  which  in 
few  other  respects  resembled  a  boat;  Linton's 
was  a  slim,  square-ended  wedge,  while  Quirk's 
was  a  blunt  barge,  fashioned  on  the  lines  of  a 
watering-trough.  They  eyed  the  freaks  with 
some  dismay,  but  neither  voiced  the  slightest 
regret  nor  acknowledged  anything  but  supreme 
satisfaction. 

Without  a  word  they  gathered  up  their  tools 
and  separated  to  prepare  their  evening  meals. 
Linton  entered  his  tent,  now  empty,  cold,  and 
cheerless;  Quirk  set  up  his  stove  in  the  open  and 
rigged  a  clumsy  shelter  out  of  a  small  tarpaulin. 
Under  this  he  spread  his  share  of  the  bedding. 
Engaged  in  this,  he  realized  that  his  two  blankets 
promised  to  be  woefully  inadequate  to  the  weather 
and  he  cocked  an  apprehensive  eye  heavenward. 
What  he  saw  did  not  reassure  him,  for  the  evening 
sky  was  overcast  and  a  cold,  fitful  wind  blew  from 
off  the  lake.  There  was  no  doubt  about  it,  it 
looked  like  rain — or  snow — perhaps  a  combina- 
tion of  both.  Mr.  Quirk  felt  a  shiver  of  dread  run 
through  him,  and  his  heart  sank  at  the  prospect 
of  many  nights  like  this  to  come.  He  derived 
some  scanty  comfort  from  the  sight  of  old  Tom 
puttering  wearily  around  a  camp-fire,  the  smoke 
from  which  followed  him  persistently,  bringing 
tears  to  his  smarting  eyes  and  strangling  com- 
plaints from  his  lungs. 

143 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"He's  tryin'  to  burn  green  wood,"  Jerry  said, 
aloud,  "the  old  fool!" 

A  similar  epithet  was  upon  his  former  partner's 
tongue.  Linton  was  saying  to  himself,  "Old 
Jerry's  enjoying  life  now,  but  wait  till  his  fire  goes 
out  and  it  starts  to  rain." 

He  chuckled  maliciously  and  then  rehearsed 
a  speech  of  curt  refusal  for  use  when  Quirk  came 
to  the  tent  and  begged  shelter  from  the  weather. 
There  would  be  nothing  doing,  Tom  made  up 
his  mind  to  that;  he  tried  several  insults  under 
his  breath,  then  he  offered  up  a  vindictive  prayer 
for  rain,  hail,  sleet,  and  snow.  A  howling  Dakota 
blizzard,  he  decided,  would  exactly  suit  him.  He 
was  a  bit  rusty  on  prayers,  but  whatever  his  appeal 
may  have  lacked  in  polish  it  made  up  in  earnest- 
ness, for  never  did  petition  carry  aloft  a  greater 
weight  of  vearning  than  did  his. 

Tom  fried  his  bacon  in  a  stewpan,  for  the  skillet 
had  been  divided  with  a  cold  chisel  and  neither 
half  was  of  the  slightest  use  to  anybody.  After 
he  had  eaten  his  pilot-bread,  after  he  had  drunk 
his  cup  of  bitter  tea  and  crept  into  bed,  he  was 
prompted  to  amend  his  prayer,  for  he  discovered 
that  two  blankers  were  not  going  to  be  enough 
for  him.  Even  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that 
Jerry  must  feel  the  want  even  more  keenly  than 
did  he  failed  to  warm  him  sufficiently  for  thorough 
comfort.  Tom  was  tired  enough  to  swoon,  but 
he  refused  to  close  his  eyes  before  the  rain  came— 
what  purpose  was  served  by  retributive  justice 
unless  a  fellow  stayed  on  the  job  to  enjoy  it? 

144 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Truth  to  say,  this  self-denial  cost  him  little, 
for  the  night  had  brought  a  chill  with  it  and  the 
tent  was  damp.  Linton  became  aware,  ere  long, 
that  he  couldn't  go  to  sleep,  no  matter  how  he 
tried,  so  he  rose  and  put  on  extra  clothes.  But 
even  then  he  shivered,  and  thereafter,  of  course, 
his  blankets  served  no  purpose  whatever.  He 
and  Old  Jerry  were  accustomed  to  sleeping  spoon 
fashion,  and  not  only  did  Tom  miss  those  other 
blankets,  but  also  his  ex-partner's  bodily  heat. 
He  would  have  risen  and  rekindled  his  camp-fire 
had  it  not  been  for  his  reluctance  to  afford  Quirk 
the  gratification  of  knowing  that  he  was  uncom- 
fortable. Some  people  were  just  malicious  enough 
to  enjoy  a  man's  sufferings. 

Well,  if  he  were  cold  here  in  this  snug  shelter, 
Jerry  must  be  about  frozen  under  his  flapping  fly. 
Probably  the  old  fool  was  too  stubborn  to  whim- 
per; no  doubt  he'd  pretend  to  be  enjoying  him- 
self, and  would  die  sooner  than  acknowledge  him- 
self in  the  wrong.  Jerry  had  courage,  that  way, 
but — this  would  serve  him  right,  this  would  cure 
him.  Linton  was  not  a  little  disappointed  when 
the  rain  continued  to  hold  off. 


CHAPTER    IX 

'"THE  change  in  the  weather  had  not  escaped 
A  Pierce  Phillips'  notice,  and  before  going  to 
bed  he  stepped  out  of  his  tent  to  study  the  sky. 
It  was  threatening.  Recalling  extravagant  stories 
of  the  violence  attained  by  storms  in  this  moun- 
tain-lake country,  he  decided  to  make  sure  that 
his  boats  and  cargo  were  out  of  reach  of  any 
possible  danger,  and  so  walked  down  to  the  shore, 

A  boisterous  wind  had  roused  Lake  Linderman, 
and  out  of  the  inky  blackness  came  the  sound  of 
its  anger.  As  Pierce  groped  his  way  up  to  the 
nearest  skiff  he  was  startled  by  receiving  a  sharp 
challenge  in  the  Countess  Courteau's  voice. 

"Who  is  that?"  she  cried. 

"It's  I,  Pierce,"  he  answered,  quickly.  He  dis- 
covered the  woman  finally,  and,  approaching 
closer,  he  saw  that  she  was  sitting  on  a  pile  of 
freight,  her  heels  drawn  up  beneath  her  and  her 
arms  clasped  around  her  knees.  "  I  came  down  to 
make  sure  everything  was  snug.  But  what  are 
you  doing  here?" 

She  looked  down  into  his  upturned  face  and  her 
white  teeth  showed  in  a  smile.  "I  came  for  the 
same  purpose.  Now  I'm  waiting  for  the  storm 

146 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

to  break.  You  can  make  out  the  clouds  when 
your  eyes  grow  accustomed — " 

"It's  too  windy.  You'll  catch  cold,"  he  de- 
clared. 

"Oh,  I'm  warm,  and  I  love  storms!"  She 
stared  out  into  the  night,  then  added,  "I'm  a 
stormy  creature." 

Again  he  urged  her  to  return  to  her  tent,  and 
in  his  voice  was  such  genuine  concern  that  she 
laid  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  It  was  a  warm, 
impulsive  gesture  and  it  betrayed  a  grateful  ap- 
preciation of  his  solicitude;  it  was  the  first  fa- 
miliarity she  had  ever  permitted  herself  to  in- 
dulge in,  and  when  she  spoke  it  was  in  an  unusually 
intimate  tone: 

"You're  a  good  friend,  Pierce.  I  don't  know 
what  I'd  do  without  you." 

Phillips'  surprise  robbed  him  momentarily  of 
speech.  This  woman  possessed  a  hundred  moods; 
a  few  hours  before  she  had  treated  him  with  a 
cool  indifference  that  was  almost  studied;  now, 
without  apparent  reason,  she  had  turned  almost 
affectionate.  Perhaps  it  was  the  night,  or  the 
solitude,  that  drew  them  together;  whatever  the 
reason,  those  first  few  words,  that  one  impul- 
sive gesture,  assured  Pierce  that  they  were  very 
close  to  each  other,  for  the  moment  at  least. 

"I'm — glad,"  he  said,  finally.  "I  wish  I  were 
more —  I  wish — " 

"What?"  she  queried,  when  he  hesitated. 

"I  wish  you  couldn't  do  without  me."     It  was 

out;   he  realized  in  a  panic  that  his  whole  secret 
147 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

was  hers.  With  no  faintest  intention  of  speaking, 
even  of  hinting  at  the  truth,  he  had  blurted  forth 
a  full  confession.  She  had  caught  him  off  guard, 
and,  like  a  perfect  ass,  he  had  betrayed  himself. 
What  would  she  think?  How  would  she  take  his 
audacity,  his  presumption?  He  was  surprised  to 
feel  her  fingers  tighten  briefly  before  her  hand  was 
withdrawn. 

The  Countess  Courteau  was  not  offended.  Had 
it  not  been  for  that  pressure  upon  his  shoulder 
Phillips  would  have  believed  that  his  words  had 
gone  unheard,  for  she  entirely  ignored  them. 

" Night!  Wind!  Storm!"  she  said,  in  a  queer, 
meditative  tone.  "They  stir  the  blood,  don't 
they?  Not  yours,  perhaps,  but  mine.  I  was  al- 
ways restless.  You  see,  I  was  born  on  the  ocean 
— on  the  way  over  here.  My  father  was  a  sailor: 
he  was  a  stormy-weather  man.  At  a  time  like 
this  everything  in  me  quickens,  I'm  aware  of 
impulses  I  never  feel  at  other  times — desires  I 
daren't  yield  to.  It  was  on  a  stormy  night  that 
the  Count  proposed  to  me."  She  laughed  shortly, 
bitterly.  "I  believed  him.  I'd  believe  anything 
— I'd  do,  I'd  dare  anything — when  the  winds  are 
reckless."  She  turned  abruptly  to  her  listener 
and  it  seemed  to  him  that  her  eyes  were  strangely 
luminous.  "Have  you  ever  felt  that  way?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"Lucky  for  you;  it  would  be  a  man's  undoing. 
Tell  me,  what  am  I?  What  do  you  make  of  me?" 
While  the  young  man  felt  for  an  answer  she  ran 
on:  "I'd  like  to  know.  What  sort  of  woman  do/ 

148 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

you  consider  me?  How  have  I  impressed  you? 
Speak  plainly — no  sentiment.  You're  a  clean- 
minded,  unsophisticated  boy.  I'm  curious  to 
hear—" 

"I  can't  speak  like  a  boy,"  he  said,  gravely, 
but  with  more  than  a  hint  of  resentment  in  his 
tone,  "for — I'm  not  a  boy.  Not  any  longer." 

' '  Oh  yes,  you  are !  You're  fresh  and  wholesome 
and  honorable  and —  Well,  only  boys  are  that. 
"What  do  I  seem,  to  you?" 

"You're  a  chameleon.  There's  nobody  in  the 
world  quite  like  you.  Why,  at  this  minute  you're 
different  even  to  yourself.  You  —  take  my 
breath—" 

"Do  you  consider  me  harsh,  masculine — ?" 

"Oh  no!" 

"I'm  glad  of  that.  I'm  not,  really.  I've  had 
a  hard  experience  and  my  eyes  were  opened  early. 
I  know  poverty,  disappointment,  misery,  every- 
thing unpleasant,  but  I'm  smart  and  I  know  how 
to  get  ahead.  I've  never  stood  still.  I've  learned 
how  to  fight,  too,  for  I've  had  to  make  my  own 
way.  Why,  Pierce,  you'r*  the  one  man  who 
ever  did  me  an  unselfish  favor  or  a  real,  disin- 
terested courtesy.  Do  you  wonder  that  I  want 
to  know  what  kind  of  a  creature  you  consider  me?" 

"Perhaps  I'm  not  altogether  unselfish,"  he  told 
her,  sullenly. 

The  Countess  did  not  heed  this  remark;  she 
did  not  seem  to  read  the  least  significance  into 
it.  Her  chin  was  upon  her  knees,  her  face  was 

turned  again  to  the  darkness  whence  came  the 

149 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

rising  voice  of  stormy  waters.  The  wind  whipped 
a  strand  of  her  hair  into  Phillips'  face. 

"It  is  hard  work  fighting  men — and  women, 
too — and  I'm  awfully  tired.  Tired  inside,  you 
understand.  One  gets  tired  fighting  alone — al- 
ways alone.  One  has  dreams  of — well,  dreams. 
It's  a  pity  they  never  come  true." 

"What  are  some  of  them?"  he  inquired. 

The  woman,  still  under  the  spell  of  her  hour, 
made  as  if  to  answer;  then  she  stirred  and  raised 
her  head.  "This  isn't  a  safe  night  to  talk  about 
them.  I  think  I  shall  go  to  bed."  She  extended 
her  hand  to  Phillips,  but  instead  of  taking  it  he 
reached  forth  and  lifted  her  bodily  down  out  of  the 
wind.  She  gasped  as  she  felt  his  strong  hands 
under  her  arms;  for  a  moment  her  face  brushed 
his  and  her  fragrant  breath  was  warm  against  his 
cheek.  PhilEps  lowered  her  gently,  slowly,  until 
her  feet  were  on  the  ground,  but  even  then  his 
grasp  lingered  and  he  held  her  close  to  him. 

They  stood  breast  to  breast  for  a  moment  and 
Pierce  saw  that  in  this  woman's  expression  was 
neither  fear  nor  resentment,  but  some  strange 
emotion  new-born  of  the  night — an  emotion  which 
his  act  had  started  into  life  and  which  as  yet  she 
did  not  fully  understand.  Her  eyes  were  wide 
and  wondering;  they  remained  fixed  upon  his, 
and  that  very  fixity  suggested  a  meaning  so  sur- 
prising, so  significant,  that  he  felt  the  world  spin 
dizzily  under  him.  She  was  astonished,  yet  ex- 
pectant; she  was  stunned  but  ready.  He  ex- 
perienced a  fierce  desire  to  hold  her  closer,  closer, 

150 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

to  crush  her  in  his  arms,  and  although  she  resisted 
faintly,  unconsciously  she  yielded;  her  inner 
being  answered  his  without  reserve.  She  did  not 
turn  her  face  away  when  his  came  closer,  even 
when  his  lips  covered  hers. 

After  a  long  moment  she  surrendered  wholly, 
she  snuggled  closer  and  bowed  her  head  upon  his 
shoulder.  Her  cheek  against  his  was  very  cold 
from  the  wind  and  Pierce  discovered  that  it  was 
wet  with  tears. 

"It  has  been  a  long  fight,"  she  sighed,  in  a 
voice  that  he  could  scarcely  hear.  "I  didn't 
know  how  tired  I  was." 

Phillips  groped  for  words,  but  he  could  find  noth- 
ing to  say,  his  ordered  thoughts  having  fled  before 
this  sudden  gust  of  ardor  as  leaves  are  whirled 
away  before  a  tempest.  All  he  knew  was  that  in 
his  arms  lay  a  woman  he  had  knelt  to,  a  worship- 
ful goddess  of  snow  and  gold  before  whom  he  had 
abased  himself,  but  who  had  turned  to  flesh  at  his 
first  touch. 

He  kissed  her  again  and  again,  warmly,  tenderly, 
and  yet  with  a  ruthless  fervor  that  grew  after 
each  caress,  and  she  submitted  passively,  the 
while  those  tears  stole  down  her  cheeks.  In  reality 
she  was  neither  passive  nor  passionless,  for  her 
body  quivered  and  Phillips  knew  that  his  touch 
had  set  her  afire;  but  rather  she  seemed  to  be 
exhausted  and  at  the  same  time  enthralled  as  by 
some  dream  from  which  she  was  loath  to  rouse 
herself. 

After  a  while  her  hand  rose  to  his  face  and 

151 


stroked  it  softty,  then  she  drew  herself  away  from 
him  and  with  a  wan  smile  upon  her  lips  said: 

"The  wind  has  made  a  fool  of  me." 

"No,  no!"  he  cried,  forcefully.  "You  asked 
me  what  I  think  of  you—  Well,  now  you  know." 

Still  smiling,  she  shook  her  head  slowly,  then 
she  told  him,  "Come!  I  hear  the  rain." 

"But  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  I  have  so  much 
to  say — " 

' '  What  is  there  to  talk  about  to-night?  Hark !" 
They  could  feel,  rather  than  hear,  the  first  warn- 
ings of  the  coming  downpour,  so  hand  in  hand 
they  walked  up  the  gravelly  beach  and  into  the 
fringe  of  the  forest  where  glowed  the  dull  illumi- 
nation from  lamplit  canvas  walls.  When  they 
paused  before  the  Countess'  tent  Pierce  once  more 
enfolded  her  hi  his  arms  and  sheltered  her  from 
the  boisterous  breath  of  the  night.  His  emotions 
were  in  a  similar  tumult,  but  as  yet  he  could  not 
voice  them,  he  could  merely  stammer: 

"You  have  never  told  me  your  name." 

"Hilda." 

"May  I-— call  you  that?" 

She  nodded .  ' '  Yes — when  we  are  alone.  Hilda 
Halberg,  that  was  my  name." 

"Hilda!  Hilda— Phillips."  Pierce  tried  the 
sound  curiously.  The  Countess  drew  back  abrupt- 
ly, with  a  shiver;  then,  in  answer  to  his  quick 
concern,  said: 

"I— I  think  I'm  cold." 

He  undertook  to  clasp  her  closer,  but  she  held 
him  off,  murmuring: 

152 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Let  it  be  Hilda  Halberg  for  to-night.  Let's 
not  think  of —  Let's  not  think  at  all.  Hilda — 
bride  of  the  storm.  There's  a  tempest  in  my 
blood,  and  who  can  think  with  a  tempest  raging?" 

She  raised  her  face  and  kissed  him  upon  the 
lips,  then,  disengaging  herself  once  more  from 
his  hungry  arms,  she  stepped  inside  her  shelter. 
The  last  he  saw  of  her  was  her  luminous  smile 
framed  against  the  black  background;  then  she 
let  the  tent-fly  fall. 

As  Phillips  turned  away  big  raindrops  began 
to  drum  upon  the  near-by  tent  roofs,  the  spruce- 
tops  overhead  bent  low,  limbs  threshed  as  the 
gusty  night  wind  beat  upon  them.  Eut  he  heard 
none  of  it,  felt  none  of  it,  for  in  his  ears  rang 
the  music  of  the  spheres  and  on  his  face  lingered 
the  warmth  of  a  woman's  lips,  the  first  love  kiss 
that  he  had  ever  known. 

Tom  Linton  roused  himself  from  a  chilly  doze 
to  find  that  the  rain  had  come  at  last.  It  was 
a  roaring  night;  his  tent  was  bellied  in  by  the 
force  of  the  wind,  and  the  raindrops  beat  upon  it 
with  the  force  of  buckshot.  Through  the  en- 
trance slit,  through  the  open  stovepipe  hole,  the 
gale  poured,  bringing  dampness  with  it  and  ren- 
dering the  interior  as  draughty  as  a  corn-crib. 
Rolling  himself  more  tightly  in  his  blankets,  Lin- 
ton  addressed  the  darkness  through  chattering 
teeth. 

"Darned  old  fool!    This  '11  teach  him!" 
He  strained  his  ears  for  sounds  of  Jerry,  but 

153 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

could  hear  nothing  above  the  slatting  of  wet  can- 
vas, the  tattoo  of  drops,  and  the  roar  of  wind  in  the 
tree-tops.  After  the  first  violence  of  the  squall  had 
passed  he  fancied  he  could  hear  his  former  partner 
stirring,  so  he  arose  and  peered  out  into  the  night. 
At  first  he  could  see  nothing,  but  in  time  he  dimly 
made  out  Jerry  struggling  with  his  tarpaulin. 
Evidently  the  fly  had  blown  down,  or  up,  and  its 
owner  was  restretching  it.  Linton  grinned.  That 
would  drench  the  old  dodo  to  the  skin  and  he'd 
soon  be  around,  begging  shelter. 

"But  I  won't  let  him  in,  not  if  he  drowns," 
Tom  muttered,  harshly.  He  recalled  one  of 
Jerry's  gibes  at  the  saw-pit,  a  particularly  unfeel- 
ing, nay,  a  downright  venomous  insult  which  had 
rankled  steadily  ever  since.  His  former  friend 
had  seen  fit  to  ridicule  honest  perspiration  and  to 
pretend  to  mistake  it  for  raindrops.  That  remark 
had  been  utterly  uncalled  for  and  it  had  betrayed 
a  wanton  malice,  a  malevolent  desire  to  wound; 
well,  here  was  a  chance  to  even  the  score.  When 
Jerry  came  dripping  to  the  tent  door,  Tom  decided 
he  would  poke  his  head  out  into  the  deluge  and 
then  cry  in  evident  astonishment:  "Wiry,  Jerry, 
you've  been  working,  haven't  you?  You're  all 
sweaty!"  Mr.  Linton  giggled  out  loud.  That 
would  be  a  refinement  of  sarcasm;  that  would  be 
a  get-back  of  the  finest.  If  Jerry  insisted  upon 
coming  hi  out  of  the  wet  he'd  tell  him  gruffly  to 
get  out  of  there  and  try  the  lake  for  a  change. 

But  Mr.  Quirk  made  no  move  in  the  direction 
of  the  tent;  instead  he  built  a  fire  in  his  stove 

154 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

and  crouched  over  it,  endeavoring  vainly  to  shel- 
ter himself  from  the  driving  rain.  Linton  watched 
him  with  mingled  impatience  and  resentment. 
Would  the  old  fool  never  get  enough?  Jerry  was 
the  most  unreasonable,  the  most  tantalizing  person 
in  the  world. 

After  a  time  Mr.  Linton  found  that  his  teeth 
were  chattering  and  that  his  frame  had  been 
smitten  as  by  an  ague;  reluctantly  he  crept  back 
into  bed.  He  determined  to  buy,  beg,  borrow,  or 
steal  some  more  bedding  on  the  morrow — early 
on  the  morrow  in  order  to  forestall  Jerry.  Jerry 
would  have  to  find  a  tent  somewhere,  and  inas- 
much as  there  were  none  to  be  had  here  at  Linder- 
man,  he  would  probably  have  to  return  to  Dyea. 
That  would  delay  him  seriously — enough,  perhaps, 
so  that  the  jaws  of  winter  would  close  down  upon 
him.  Through  the  drone  of  pattering  drops  there 
came  the  faint  sound  of  a  cough. 

Mr.  Linton  sat  up  in  bed.  " Pneumonia!"  he 
exclaimed.  Well,  Jerry  was  getting  exactly  what 
he  deserved.  He  had  called  him,  Tom,  an  "old 
fool,"  a  "dam'  old  fool,"  to  be  precise.  The 
epithet  in  itself  meant  nothing — it  was  in  fact  a 
fatuous  and  feeble  term  of  abuse  as  compared  to 
the  opprobrious  titles  which  he  and  Jerry  were  in 
the  habit  of  exchanging — it  was  that  abominable 
adjective  which  hurt.  Jerry  and  he  had  called 
each  other  many  names  at  times,  they  had  ex- 
changed numerous  gibes  and  insults,  but  nothing 
like  that  hateful  word  "old"  had  ever  passed  be- 
tween them  until  this  fatal  morning.  Jerry 
11  155 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Quirk  himself  was  old,  the  oldest  man  in  the  world, 
perhaps,  but  Tom  had  exercised  an  admirable 
regard  for  his  partner's  feelings  and  had  never 
cast  it  up  to  him.  Thus  had  his  consideration 
been  repaid.  However,  the  poor  fellow's  race 
was  about  run,  for  he  couldn't  stand  cold  or  ex- 
posure. Why,  a  wet  foot  sent  him  to  bed.  How, 
then,  could  a  rickety  ruin  of  his  antiquity  with- 
stand the  ravages  of  pneumonia — galloping  pneu- 
monia, at  that? 

Linton  reflected  that  common  decency  would 
demand  that  he  wait  over  a  day  or  two  and  help 
bury  the  old  man — people  would  expect  that 
much  of  him.  He'd  do  it.  He'd  speak  kindly  of 
the  departed;  he'd  even  erect  a  cross  and  write 
an  epitaph  upon  it — a  kindly,  lying  epitaph  ex- 
tolling the  dead  man's  virtues,  and  omitting  all 
mention  of  his  faults. 

Once  more  that  hacking  cough  sounded,  and 
the  listener  stirred  uneasily.  Jerry  had  some  vir- 
tues— &  few  of  the  common,  elemental  sort — he 
was  honest  and  he  was  brave,  but,  for  that  mat- 
ter, so  were  most  people.  Yes,  the  old  scoundrel 
had  nerve  enough.  Linton  recalled  a  certain 
day,  long  past,  when  he  and  Quirk  had  been  sent 
out  to  round  up  some  cattle-rustlers.  Being  the 
youngest  deputies  in  the  sheriff's  office,  the  tough- 
est jobs  invariably  fell  to  them.  Those  were  the 
good,  glad  days,  Tom  reflected.  Jerry  had  made 
a  reputation  on  that  trip  and  he  had  saved  his 
companion's  life — Linton  flopped  nervously  in  his 
bed  at  the  memory.  WTiy  think  of  days  dead  and 

156 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

gone?  Jerry  was  an  altogether  different  man  in 
those  times.  He  neither  criticized  nor  permitted 
others  to  criticize  his  team-mate,  and,  so  far  as 
that  particular  obligation  went,  Linton  had  repaid 
it  with  compound  interest.  If  anything,  the  debt 
now  lay  on  Jerry's  side. 

Tom  tried  to  close  the  book  of  memory  and  to 
consider  nothing  whatever  except  the  rankling 
present,  but,  now  that  his  thoughts  had  begun 
to  run  backward,  he  could  not  head  them  off.  He 
wished  Jerry  wouldn't  cough;  it  was  a  distressing 
sound,  and  it  disturbed  his  rest.  Nevertheless, 
that  hollow,  hacking  complaint  continued  and 
finally  the  listener  arose,  lit  a  lantern,  put  on  a 
slicker  and  untied  his  tent  flaps. 

Jerry's  stove  was  sizzling  in  the  partial  shelter 
of  the  canvas  sheet;  over  it  the  owner  crouched 
hi  an  attitude  of  cheerless  dejection. 

"How  you  making  out?"  Tom  inquired,  gruffly. 
His  voice  was  cold,  his  manner  was  both  repellent 
and  hostile. 

"Who,  me?"  Jerry  peered  up  from  under  his 
glistening  sou'wester.  "Oh,  I'm  doin'  fine!" 

Linton  remained  silent,  ill  at  ease;  water 
drained  off  his  coat;  his  lantern  flared  smokily 
in  the  wind.  After  a  time  he  cleared  his  throat 
and  inquired: 

"Wet?" 

"Naw!" 

There  was  a  long  pause,  then  the  visitor  in- 
quired: "Are  you  lying?" 

"Unh-hunh!" 

157 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

Again  silence  claimed  both  men  until  Tom 
broke  out,  irritably:  "Well,  you  aim  to  set  here 
all  night?" 

"Sure!  I  ain't  sleepy.  I  don't  mind  a  little 
mist  and  I'm  plenty  warm."  This  cheerful  asser- 
tion was  belied  by  the  miserable  quaver  in  which 
it  was  voiced. 

"Why  don't  you — er — run  over  to  my  tent?" 
Linton  gasped  and  swallowed  hard.  The  invita- 
tion was  out,  the  damage  was  done.  "There's 
lots  of  room." 

Mr.  Quirk  spared  his  caller's  further  feelings  by 
betraying  no  triumph  whatever.  Rather  plain- 
tively he  declared:  "I  got  room  enough  here.  It 
ain't  exactly  room  I  need."  Again  he  coughed. 

"Here!  Get  a  move  on  you,  quick,"  Linton 
ordered,  forcefully.  "The  idea  of  you  setting 
around  hatching  out  a  lungful  of  pneumonia  bugs ! 
Git!  I'll  bring  your  bedding." 

Mr.  Quirk  rose  with  alacrity.  "Say!  Let's 
take  my  stove  over  to  your  tent  and  warm  her 
up.  I  bet  you're  cold?" 

"N-no!  I'm  comfortable  enough."  The 
speaker's  teeth  played  an  accompaniment  to  this 
mendacious  denial.  "Of  course  I'm  not  sweating 
any,  but — I  s'pose  the  stove  would  cheer  things 
up,  eh?  Rotten  night,  ain't  it?" 

"Worst  I  ever  saw.  Rotten  country,  for  that 
matter." 

"You  said  something,"  Mr.  Linton  chattered. 
He  nodded  his  head  with  vigor. 

It  was  wet  work  moving  Jerry's  belongings, 

158 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

but  the  transfer  was  finally  effected,  the  stove 
was  set  up  and  a  new  fire  started.  This  done, 
Tom  brought  forth  a  bottle  of  whisky. 

"Here,"  said  he,  "take  a  snifter.  It  '11  do  you 
good." 

Jerry  eyed  the  bottle  with  frank  astonishment 
before  he  exclaimed:  "Why,  I  didn't  know  you 
was  a  drinkin'  man.  You  been  hidin'  a  secret 
vice  from  me?" 

"No.  And  I'm  not  a  drinking  man.  I  brought 
it  along  for — you.  I — er — that  cough  of  yours 
used  to  worry  me,  jo — " 

"Pshaw!    I  cough  easy.    You  knew  that." 

"You  take  a  jolt  and" — Linton  flushed  with 
embarrassment — "and  I'll  have  one  with  you.  I 
was  lying  just  now;  I'm  colder  'n  a  frog's  belly." 

"Happy  days,"  said  Quirk,  as  he  tipped  the 
bottle. 

"A  long  life  and  a  wicked  one!"  Linton  drank 
in  his  turn.  "Now  then,  get  out  of  those  cold 
compresses.  Here's  some  dry  underclothes — 
thick,  too.  We'll  double  up  those  henskin  blank- 
ets— for  to-night — and  I'll  keep  the  fire  a-going. 
I'll  cure  that  cough  if  I  sweat  you  as  white  as  a 
washwoman's  thumb." 

"You'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  Jerry  declared, 
as  he  removed  his  sodden  garments  and  hung 
them  up.  "You'll  crawl  right  into  bed  with  me 
and  we'll  have  a  good  sleep.  You're  near  dead." 

But  Linton  was  by  no  means  reassured;  his 
tone  was  querulous  when  he  cried:  "Why  didn't 
you  come  in  before  you  caught  cold?  S'pose  you 

159 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

get  sick  on  me  now?  But  you  won't.  I  won't 
let  you."  In  a  panic  of  apprehension  he  dug  out 
his  half  of  the  contents  of  the  medicine-kit  and 
began  to  paw  through  them.  "Who  got  the 
cough  syrup,  Jerry;  you  or  me?"  The  speaker's 
voice  broke  miserably. 

Mr.  Quirk  laid  a  trembling  hand  upon  his  ex- 
partner's  shoulder;  his  voice,  too,  was  shaky 
when  he  said,  "You're  awful  good  to  me,  Tom." 

The  other  shook  off  the  grasp  and  undertook 
to  read  the  labels  on  the  bottles,  but  they  had 
become  unaccountably  blurre  \  and  there  was  a 
painful  lump  in  his  throat.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
Old  Jerry's  bare  legs  looked  pitifully  thin  and 
spidery  and  that  his  bony  knees  had  a  rheumatic 
appearance. 

"Hell!  I  treated  you  mighty  mean,"  said  he. 
"But  I  'most  died  when  you — began  to  cough. 
I  thought  sure — "  Tom  choked  and  shook  his 
gray  head,  then  with  the  heel  of  his  harsh  palm 
he  wiped  a  drop  of  moisture  from  his  cheek. 
"Look  at  me— -cryin'!"  He  tried  to  laugh  and 
failed. 

Jerry,  likewise,  struggled  with  his  tears. 

"You — you  dam'  old  fool!"  he  cried,  affec- 
tionately. 

Linton  smiled  with  delight.  "Give  it  to  me," 
he  urged.  "Lam  into  me,  Jerry.  I  deserve  it. 
Gosh!  I  was  lonesome!" 

A  half -hour  later  the  two  friends  were  lying 
side  by  side  in  their  bed  and  the  stove  was  glowing 
comfortably.  They  had  ceased  shivering.  Old 

160 


Jerry  had  "spooned"  up  close  to  old  Tom  and  his 
bodily  heat  was  grateful. 

Linton  eyed  the  fire  with  tender  yearning. 
"That's  a  good  stove  you  got." 

"She's  a  corker,  ain't  she?" 

"I  been  thinking  about  trading  you  a  half 
interest  in  my  tent  for  a  half  interest  in  her." 

"The  trade's  made."  There  was  a  moment  of 
silence.  "What  d'you  say  we  hook  up  together 
—sort  of  go  pardners  for  a  while?  I  got  a  long 
outfit  and  a  short  boat.  I'll  put  'em  in  against 
yours.  I  bet  we'd  get  along  all  right.  I'm  on- 
nery,  but  I  got  good  points." 

Mr.  Linton  smiled  dreamily.  "It's  a  go.  I 
need  a  good  partner." 

"I'll  buy  a  new  fryin'-pan  out  of  my  money. 
Mine  got  split,  somehow." 

Tom  chuckled.    "You  darned  old  fool !"  said  he. 

Jerry  heaved  a  long  sigh  and  snuggled  closer; 
soon  he  began  to  snore.  He  snored  in  a  low  and 
confidential  tone  at  first,  but  gradually  the  sound 
increased  in  volume  and  rose  in  pitch. 

Linton  listened  to  it  with  a  thrill,  and  he  assured 
himself  that  he  had  never  heard  music  of  such 
soul-satisfying  sweetness  as  issued  from  the  nos-* 
trils  of  his  new  partner. 


CHAPTER   X 

TO  the  early  Klondikers,  Chilkoot  Pass  was  a 
personality,  a  Presence  at  once  sinister,  cruel, 
and  forbidding.  So,  too,  only  in  greater  measure, 
was  Miles  Canon.  The  Chilkoot  toyed  with  men, 
it  wore  them  out,  it  stripped  them  of  their 
strength  and  their  manhood,  it  wrecked  their 
courage  and  it  broke  their  hearts.  The  canon 
sucked  them  in  and  swallowed  them.  This  canon 
is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  rift  in  a  great 
basaltic  barrier  which  lies  athwart  the  river's 
course,  the  entrance  to  it  being  much  like  the 
door  in  a  wall.  Above  it  the  waters  are  dammed 
and  into  it  they  pour  as  into  a  flume;  down  it 
they  rage  in  swiftly  increasing  fury,  for  it  is 
steeply  pitched,  and,  although  the  gorge  itself  is 
not  long,  immediately  below  it  are  other  turbulent 
stretches  equally  treacherous.  It  seems  as  if 
here,  within  the  space  of  some  four  miles,  Nature 
had  exhausted  her  ingenuity  in  inventing  terrors 
to  frighten  invaders,  as  if  here  she  had  combined 
every  possible  peril  of  river  travel.  The  result 
01  her  labors  is  a  series  of  cataclysms. 

Immediately  below  Miles  Canon  itself  are  the 
Squaw  Rapids,  where  th^  torrent  spills  itself  over 

162 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

a  confusion  of  boulders,  bursting  into  foam  and 
gyrating  in  dizzy  whirlpools,  its  surface  broken 
by  explosions  of  spray  or  pitted  by  devouring 
vortices  resembling  the  oily  mouths  of  marine 
monsters.  Below  this,  in  turn,  is  the  White 
Horse,  worst  of  all.  Here  the  flood  somersaults 
over  a  tremendous  reef,  flinging  on  high  a  gleaming 
curtain  of  spray.  These  rapids  are  well  named, 
for  the  tossing  waves  resemble  nothing  more  than 
runaway  white  horses  with  streaming  manes  and 
tails. 

These  are  by  no  means  all  the  dangers  that  con- 
fronted the  first  Yukon  stampeders — there  are 
other  troublesome  waters  below — for  instance, 
Rink  Rapids,  where  the  river  boils  and  bubbles 
like  a  kettle  over  an  open  fire,  and  Five  Fingers, 
so-called  by  reason  of  a  row  of  knobby,  knuckled 
pinnacles  that  reach  up  like  the  stiff  digits  of  a 
drowning  hand  and  split  the  stream  into  diver- 
gent channels — but  those  three,  Miles  Canon, 
the  Squaw,  and  White  Horse,  were  the  worst  and 
together  they  constituted  a  menace  that  tried 
the  courage  of  the  bravest  men. 

In  the  canon,  where  the  waters  are  most  nar- 
rowly constricted,  they  heap  themselves  up  into 
a  longitudinal  ridge  or  bore,  a  comb  perhaps  four 
feet  higher  than  the  general  level.  To  ride  this 
crest  and  to  avoid  the  destroying  fangs  that  lie 
in  wait  on  either  side  is  a  feat  that  calls  for  nerve 
and  skill  and  endurance  on  the  part  of  boatmen. 
The  whole  four  miles  is  a  place  of  many  voices, 
a  thundering  place  that  numbs  the  senses  and 

163 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

destroys  all  hearing.  Its  tumult  is  heard  afar 
and  it  covers  the  entire  region  like  a  blanket. 
The  weight  of  that  sound  is  oppressive. 

Winter  was  at  the  heels  of  the  Courteau  party 
when  it  arrived  at  this  point  in  its  journey;  it 
brought  up  the  very  tail  of  the  autumn  rush  and 
the  ice  was  close  behind.  The  Countess  and  her 
companions  had  the  uncomfortable  feeling  that 
they  were  inside  the  jaws  of  a  trap  which  might 
be  sprung  at  any  moment,  for  already  the  hills 
were  dusted  with  gray  and  white,  creeks  and 
rivulets  were  steadily  dwindling  and  shelf  ice 
was  forming  on  the  larger  streams,  the  skies  were 
low  and  overcast  and  there  was  a  vicious  tingle 
to  the  air.  Delays  had  slowed  them  up,  as,  for  in- 
stance, at  Windy  Arm,  where  a  gale  had  held 
them  hi  camp  for  several  days;  then,  too,  their 
boats  were  built  of  poorly  seasoned  lumber  and 
in  consequence  were  in  need  of  frequent  attention. 
Eventually,  however,  they  came  within  hearing 
of  a  faint  whisper,  as  of  wind  among  pine  branches, 
then  of  a  muffled  murmur  that  grew  to  a  sullen 
diapason.  The  current  quickened  beneath  them, 
the  river-banks  closed  in,  and  finally  beetling  cliffs 
arose,  between  which  was  a  cleft  that  swallowed 
the  stream. 

Just  above  the  opening  was  a  landing-place 
where  boats  lay  gunwale  to  gunwale,  and  here  the 
Courteau  skiffs  were  grounded.  A  number  of 
weather-beaten  tents  were  stretched  among  the 
trees.  Most  of  them  were  the  homes  of  pilots, 

but  others  were  occupied  by  voyagers  who  pre- 
164 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

f erred  to  chance  a  winter's  delay  as  the  price  of 
portaging  their  goods  around  rather  than  risk 
their  all  upon  one  throw  of  fortune.  The  great 
majority  of  the  arrivals,  however,  were  restowing 
their  oufits,  lashing  them  down  and  covering  them 
preparatory  to  a  dash  through  the  shouting 
chasm.  There  was  an  atmosphere  of  excitement 
and  apprehension  about  the  place;  every  face  was 
strained  and  expectant ;  fear  lurked  in  many  an  eye. 

On  a  tree  near  the  landing  were  two  placards. 
One  bore  a  finger  pointing  up  the  steep  trail  to 
the  top  of  the  ridge,  and  it  was  marked: 

"This  way — two  weeks." 

The  other  pointed  down  directly  into  the  throat 
of  the  roaring  gorge.  It  read : 

"This  way — two  minutes." 

Pierce  Phillips  smiled  as  he  perused  these 
signs;  then  he  turned  up  the  trail,  for  in  his  soul 
was  a  consuming  curiosity  to  see  the  place  of 
which  he  had  heard  so  much. 

Near  the  top  of  the  slope  he  met  a  familiar 
figure  coming  down — a  tall,  upstanding  French- 
Canadian  who  gazed  out  at  the  world  through 
friendly  eyes. 

Toleon  Doret  recognized  the  new-comer  and 
burst  into  a  boisterous  greeting. 

"Wai,  wal!"  he  cried.  "You  'ain't  live'  to  be 
hung  yet,  eh?  Now  you  come  lookin'  for  me,  I 
bet." 

"Yes.     You're  the  very  man  I  want  to  see." 

"Good!    I  tak'  you  t'rough." 

Phillips  smiled  frankly.     "I'm  not  sure  I  want 

165 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

to  go  through.  I'm  in  charge  of  a  big  outfit  and 
I'm  looking  for  a  pilot  and  a  professional  crew. 
I'm  a  perfect  dub  at  this  sort  of  thing." 

Toleon  nodded.  "Dere's  no  use  risk  it  if  you 
'ain't  got  to,  dat's  fac'.  I  don'  lost  no  boats  yet, 
but — sometam's  I  bus'  'em  up  pretty  bad."  He 
grinned  cheerily.  "Dese  new-comer  get  scare' 
easy  an'  forget  to  row,  den  dey  say  'Poleon  she's 
bum  pilot.  You  seen  de  canon  yet?"  When 
Pierce  shook  his  head  the  speaker  turned  back 
and  led  the  way  out  to  the  rim. 

It  was  an  impressive  spectacle  that  Phillips  be- 
held. Perhaps  a  hundred  feet  directly  beneath 
him  the  river  whirled  and  leaped;  cross-currents 
boiled  out  from  projecting  irregularities  in  the 
walls;  here  and  there  the  waters  tumbled  madly 
and  flung  wet  arms  aloft,  while  up  out  of  the 
gorge  came  a  mighty  murmur,  redoubled  by  the 
echoing  cliffs.  A  log  came  plunging  through  and 
it  moved  with  the  speed  of  a  torpedo.  Phillips 
watched  it,  fascinated. 

"Look!  Dere's  a  boat!" 'Poleon  cried.  In  be- 
tween the  basalt  jaws  appeared  a  skiff  with  two 
rowers,  and  a  man  in  the  stern.  The  latter  was 
braced  on  wide-spread  legs  and  he  held  his  weight 
upon  a  steering-sweep.  Down  the  boat  came  at 
a  galloping  gait,  threshing  over  waves  and  flinging 
spray  head-high;  it  bucked  and  it  dove,  it  buried 
its  nose  and  then  lifted  it,  but  the  oarsman  con- 
tinued to  maintain  it  on  a  steady  course. 

"Bravo!"  Doret  shouted,  waving  his  cap.  To 
Pierce  he  said:  "Dat's  good  pilot  an'  he  knows 

166 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

swif '  water.  But  dere's  lot  of  feller  here  who  ain't 
so  good.  Dey  tak'  chance  for  beeg  money.  Wai, 
w'at  you  t'ink  of  her?  She's  dandy,  eh?" 

"It's  an  —  inferno,"  Phillips  acknowledged. 
"You  earn  all  the  money  you  get  for  running  it." 

"You  don'  care  for  'im,  w'at?" 

"  I  do  not.  I  don't  mind  taking  a  chance,  but — 
what  chance  would  a  fellow  have  in  there?  Why, 
he'd  never  come  up." 

"Dat's  right." 

Phillips  stared  at  his  companion  curiously. 
"You  must  need  money  pretty  badly." 

The  giant  shook  his  head  in  vigorous  denial. 
"No!  Money?  Pouf!  She  come,  she  go.  But, 
you  see — plenty  people  drowned  if  somebody  don' 
tak'  dem  t'rough,  so — I  stay.  Dis  winter  I  build 
myse'f  nice  cabin  an'  do  li'l  trappin'.  Nex'  sum- 
mer I  pilot  again." 

"Aren't  you  going  to  Dawson?"  Pierce  was  in- 
credulous; he  could  not  understand  this  fellow. 

Doret's  expression  changed;  a  fleeting  sadness 
settled  in  his  eyes.  "I  been  dere,"  said  he.  "I 
ain't  care  much  for  seein'  beeg  city.  I'm  lonesome 
feller."  After  a  moment  he  exclaimed,  more 
brightly:  "Now  we  go,  I  see  if  I  can  hire  crew 
to  row  your  boats." 

"How  does  she  look  to  you?"  Lucky  Broad  in- 
quired, when  Pierce  and  his  companion  appeared. 
He  and  Bridges  had  not  taken  the  trouble  to 
acquaint  themselves  with  the  canon,  but  immedi- 
ately upon  landing  had  begun  to  stow  away  their 
freight  and  to  lash  a  tarpaulin  over  it. 

167 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

"Better  go  up  and  see  for  yourself,"  the  young 
man  suggested. 

Luckjr  shook  his  head.  "Not  me,"  he  declared. 
"I  can  hear  all  I  want  to.  Listen  to  it!  I  got  a 
long  life  ahead  of  me  and  I'm  going  to  nurse  it." 

Kid  Bridges  was  of  like  mind,  for  he  said :  "  Sure! 
We  was  a  coupla  brave  guys  hi  Dyea,  but  what's 
the  good  of  runnin'  up  to  an  undertaker  and  giving 
him  your  measurements?  He'll  get  a  tape-line 
on  you  soon  enough." 

"Then  you  don't  intend  to  chance  it?"  Pierce 
inquired. 

Broad  scowled  at  the  questioner.  "Say!  I 
wouldn't  walk  down  that  place  if  it  was  froze." 

"Nor  me,"  the  other  gambler  seconded.  "Not 
for  a  million  dollars  would  I  tease  the  em- 
balmer  that  way.  Not  for  a  million.  Would 
you,  Lucky?" 

Broad  appeared  to  weigh  the  figures  carefully; 
then  he  said,  doubtfully:  "I'm  a  cheap  guy.  I 
might  risk  it  once — for  five  hundred  thousand, 
cash.  But  that's  rock  bottom;  I  wouldn't  take 
a  nickel  less." 

Doret  had  been  listening  with  some  amusement; 
now  he  said,  "You  boys  got  wide  pay-streak,  eh?" 

Bridges  nodded  without  shame.  "Wider  'n  a 
swamp,  and  yeller  'n  butter." 

"Wai,  I  see  w'at  I  can  do."  The  pilot  walked 
up  the  bank  in  search  of  a  crew. 

In  the  course  of  a  half-hour  he  was  back  again 
and  with  him  came  the  Countess  Courteau.  Call- 
ing Pierce  aside,  the  woman  said,  swiftly:  "We 

168 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

can't  get  a  soul  to  help  us;  everybody's  in  a  rush. 
We'll  have  to  use  our  own  men." 

" Broad  and  Bridges  are  the  best  we  have,"  he 
told  her,  "but  they  refuse." 

"You're  not  afraid,  are  you?" 

Now  Pierce  was  afraid  and  he  longed  mightily 
to  admit  that  he  was,  but  he  lacked  the  courage 
to  do  so.  He  smiled  feebly  and  shrugged,  where- 
upon the  former  speaker  misread  his  apparent  in- 
difference and  flashed  him  a  smile. 

"Forgive  me,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "I 
know  you're  not."  She  hurried  down  to  the 
water's  edge  and  addressed  the  two  gamblers  in 
a  business-like  tone:  "We've  no  time  to  lose. 
Which  one  of  you  wants  to  lead  off  with  Doret 
and  Pierce?" 

The  men  exchanged  glances.  It  was  Broad  who 
finally  spoke.  "We  been  figuring  it  would  please 
us  better  to  walk,"  he  said,  mildly. 

"Suit  yourselves,"  the  Countess  told  them, 
coolly.  "But  it's  a  long  walk  from  here  to  Daw- 
son."  She  turned  back  to  Pierce  and  said: 
"You've  seen  the  canon.  There's  nothing  so  ter- 
rible about  it,  is  there?" 

Phillips  was  conscious  that  'Poleon  Doret's  eyes 
were  dancing  with  laughter,  and  anger  at  his  own 
weakness  flared  up  in  him.  "Why,  no!"  he  lied, 
bravely.  "It  will  be  a  lot  of  fun." 

Kid  Bridges  leveled  a  sour  look  at  the  speaker. 
"Some  folks  have  got  low  ideas  of  entertain- 
ment," said  he.  "Some  folks  is  absolutely 
depraved  that  way.  You'd  probably  enjoy  a 

169 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

broken  arm — it  would  feel  so  good  when  it  got 
well." 

The  Countess  Courteau's  lip  was  curled  con- 
temptuously when  she  said:  " Listen!  I'm  not 
going  to  be  held  up.  There's  a  chance,  of  course, 
but  hundreds  have  gone  through.  I  can  pull  an 
oar.  Pierce  and  I  will  row  the  first  boat." 

Doret  opened  his  lips  to  protest,  but  Broad 
obviated  the  necessity  of  speech  by  rising  from  his 
seat  and  announcing:  "Deal  the  cards!  I  came 
in  on  no  pair;  I  don't  aim  to  be  raised  out  ahead 
of  the  draw — not  by  a  woman." 

Mr.  Bridges  was  both  shocked  and  aggrieved 
by  his  companion's  words.  "You  going  to  tackle 
it?"  he  asked,  incredulously. 

Lucky  made  a  grimace  of  intense  abhorrence  in 
Pierce's  direction.  "Sure!  I  don't  want  to  miss 
all  this  fun  I  hear  about." 

"When  you  get  through,  if  you  do,  which  you 
probably  won't,"  Bridges  told  him,  with  a  bleak 
and  cheerless  expression,  "set  a  gill-net  to  catch 
me.  I'll  be  down  on  the  next  trip." 

"Good  for  you!"  cried  the  Countess. 

"It  ain't  good  for  me,"  the  man  exclaimed, 
angrily.  "It's  the  worst  thing  in  the  world  for 
me.  I'm  grand-standing  and  you  know  it.  So's 
Lucky,  but  there  wouldn't  be  any  living  with 
him  if  he  pulled  it  off  and  I  didn't." 

Doret  chuckled.  To  Pierce  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice:  "Plenty  feller  mak'  fool  of  demse'f  on  dat 
woman.  I  know  all  'bout  it.  But  she  'ain't  mak' 

fool  of  herse'f,  you  bet." 

170 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"How  do  you  mean?"  Pierce  inquired,  quickly. 

Toleon  eyed  him  shrewdly.  "Wai,  tak'  you. 
You're  scare',  ain't  you?  But  you  sooner  die  so 
long  she  don't  know  it.  Plenty  oder  feller  jus' 
lak'  dat."  He  walked  to  the  nearest  skiff,  re- 
moved his  coat,  and  began  to  untie  his  boots. 

Lucky  Broad  joined  the  pilot,  then  looked  on 
uneasily  at  these  preparations.  "What's  the 
idea?"  he  inquired.  "Are  you  too  hot?" 

'Poleon  grinned  at  him  and  nodded.  Very  re- 
luctantly Broad  stripped  off  his  mackinaw,  then 
seated  himself  and  tugged  at  his  footgear.  He 
paused,  after  a  moment,  and  addressed  himself  to 
Bridges. 

"It's  no  use,  Kid.     I  squawk!"  he  said. 

"Beginning  to  weaken,  eh?" 

"Sure!  I  got  a  hole  in  my  sock — look!  Some- 
body '11  find  me  after  I've  been  drowned  a  week 
or  two,  and  what  'II  they  say?" 

"Pshaw!  You  won't  come  up  till  you  get  to 
St.  Michael's,  and  you'll  be  spoiled  by  that  time." 
Kid  Bridges  tried  to  smile,  but  the  result  was  a 
failure.  "You'll  be  swelled  up  like  a  dead  horse, 
and  so  '11 1.  They  won't  know  us  apart." 

When  Pierce  had  likewise  stripped  down  and 
taken  his  place  at  the  oars,  Broad  grumbled: 
"The  idea  of  calling  me  'Lucky'!  It  ain't  in  the 
cards."  He  spat  on  his  hands  and  settled  himself 
in  his  seat,  then  cried,  "Well,  lead  your  ace!" 

As  the  little  craft  moved  out  into  the  stream, 
Pierce  Phillips  noticed  that  the  Kirby  scow, 

which  had  run  the  Courteau  boats  a  close  race  all 
12  171 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

the  way  from  Linderman,  was  just  pulling  into 
the  bank.  Lines  had  been  passed  ashore  and, 
standing  on  the  top  of  the  cargo,  he  could  make 
out  the  figure  of  Rouletta  Kirby. 

In  spite  of  a  strong  steady  stroke  the  rowboat 
seemed  to  move  sluggishly ;  foam  and  debris  bobbed 
alongside  and  progress  appeared  to  be  slow,  but 
when  the  oarsmen  lifted  their  eyes  they  discovered 
that  the  shores  were  running  past  with  amazing 
swiftness.  Even  as  they  looked,  those  shores 
rose  abruptly  and  closed  in,  there  came  a  mount- 
ing roar,  then  the  skiff  was  sucked  in  between 
high,  rugged  walls.  Unseen  hands  reached  forth 
and  seized  it,  unseen  forces  laid  hold  of  it  and  im- 
pelled it  forward;  it  began  to  plunge  and  to  wal- 
low; spray  flew  and  wave-crests  climbed  over  the 
gunwales. 

Above  the  tumult  'Poleon  was  urging  his  crew 
to  greater  efforts.  "  Pull  hard !"  he  shouted.  "  Hi ! 
Hi!  Hi!"  He  swayed  in  unison  to  their  strain- 
ing bodies.  "Mak'  dose  oar  crack,"  he  yelled. 
"By  Gar,  dat's  goin'  some!" 

The  fellow's  teeth  were  gleaming,  his  face  was 
alight  with  an  exultant  recklessness,  he  cast  de- 
fiance at  the  approaching  terrors.  He  was  alert, 
watchful;  under  his  hands  the  stout  ash  steering- 
oar  bent  like  a  bow;  he  flung  his  whole  strength 
into  the  battle  with  the  waters.  Soon  the  roar 
increased  until  it  drowned  his  shouts  and  forced 
him  to  pantomime  his  orders.  The  boat  was 
galloping  through  a  wild  smother  of  ice-cold  spray 
and  the  reverberating  cliffs  were  streaming  past 

172 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

like  the  unrolling  scenery  on  a  painted  canvas 
panorama. 

It  was  a  hellish  place;  it  echoed  to  a  demoniac 
din  and  it  was  a  tremendous  sensation  to  brave 
it,  for  the  boat  did  not  glide  nor  slip  down  the 
descent;  it  went  hi  a  succession  of  jarring  leaps; 
it  lurched  and  twisted;  it  rolled  and  plunged  as 
if  in  a  demented  effort  to  unseat  its  passengers 
and  scatter  its  cargo.  To  the  occupants  it  seemed 
as  if  its  joints  were  opening,  as  if  the  boards  them- 
selves were  being  wrenched  loose  from  the  ribs 
to  which  they  were  nailed.  The  men  were 
drenched,  of  course,  for  they  traveled  hi  a  cloud 
of  spume;  their  feet  were  ankle-deep  in  cold 
water,  and  every  new  deluge  caused  them  to  gasp. 

How  long  it  lasted  Pierce  Phillips  never  knew; 
the  experience  was  too  terrific  to  be  long  lived. 
It  was  a  nightmare,  a  hideous  phantasmagoria  of 
frightful  sensations,  a  dissolving  stereopticon  of 
bleak,  scudding  walls,  of  hydrophobic  boulders 
frothing  madly  as  the  flood  crashed  over  them, 
of  treacherous  whirlpools,  and  of  pursuing  breakers 
that  reached  forth  licking  tongues  of  destruction. 
Then  the  river  opened,  the  cliffs  fell  away,  and  the 
torrent  spewed  itself  out  into  an  expanse  of  whirl- 
pools— a  lake  of  gyrating  funnels  that  warred 
with  one  another  and  threatened  to  twist  the  keel 
from  under  the  boat. 

Toleon  swung  close  in  to  the  right  bank,  where 
an  eddy  raced  up  against  the  flood;  some  one 
flung  a  rope  from  the  shore  and  drew  the  boat  in. 

"Wai!    I  never  had  no  better  crew,"  cried  the 
173 


pilot.  "Wat  you  t'ink  of  'im,  eh?"  He  smiled 
down  at  the  white-lipped  oarsmen,  who  leaned 
forward,  panting  and  dripping. 

"Is — that  all  of  it?"  Lucky  Broad  inquired, 
weakly. 

"Mais  non!  Look!  Dere's  Wite  'Orse." 
Doret  indicated  a  wall  of  foam  and  spray  farther 
down  the  river.  Directly  across  the  expanse  of 
whirlpools  stood  a  village  named  after  the  rapids. 
"You  get  plenty  more  bimeby." 

"You're  wrong.  I  got  plenty  right  now," 
Broad  declared. 

"I'm  glad  the  Countess  didn't  come,"  said 
Phillips. 

When  the  men  had  wrung  out  their  clothes  and 
put  on  their  boots  they  set  out  along  the  back 
trail  over  the  bluffs. 

Danny  Royal  was  not  an  imaginative  person. 
He  possessed,  to  be  sure,  the  superstitions  of  the 
average  horseman  and  gambler,  and  he  believed 
strongly  in  hunches,  but  he  was  not  fanciful  and 
he  put  no  faith  hi  dreams  and  portents.  It  both- 
ered him  exceedingly,  therefore,  to  discover  that 
he  was  weighed  down  by  an  unaccountable  but 
extremely  oppressive  sense  of  apprehension.  How 
or  why  it  had  come  to  obsess  him  he  could  not 
imagine,  but  for  some  reason  Miles  Canon  and  the 
stormy  waters  below  it  had  assumed  terrible 
potentialities  and  he  could  not  shake  off  the  con- 
viction that  they  were  destined  to  prove  his  un- 
doing. This  feeling  he  had  allowed  to  grow  until 

174 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

now  a  fatalistic  apathy  had  settled  upon  him  and 
his  usual  cheerfulness  was  replaced  by  a  sense- 
less irritability.  He  suffered  explosions  of  tem- 
per quite  as  surprising  to  the  Kirbys,  father  and 
daughter,  as  to  himself.  On  the  day  of  his  ar- 
rival he  was  particularly  ugly,  wherefore  Rouletta 
was  impelled  to  remonstrate  with  him. 

' '  What  ails  you,  Danny?' '  she  inquired.  ' '  You'll 
have  our  men  quitting." 

"I  wish  they  would,"  he  cried.  "Boatmen! 
They  don't  know  as  much  about  boats  as  me  aid 
Sam." 

"They  do  whatever  they're  told." 

Royal  acknowledged  this  fact  ungraciously. 
"Trouble  is  we  don't  know  what  to  tell  'em  to 
do.  All  Sam  knows  is  'gee'  and  'haw,'  and  I 
can't  steer  anything  that  don't  wear  a  bridle. 
Why,  if  this  river  wasn't  fenced  in  with  trees  we'd 
have  taken  the  wrong  road  and  been  lost,  long 
ago." 

Rouletta  nodded  thoughtfully.  "Father  is  just 
as  afraid  of  water  as  you  are.  He  won't  admit 
it,  but  I  can  tell.  It  has  gotten  on  his  nerves  and 
— I've  had  hard  work  to  keep  him  from  drinking." 

"Say!  Don't  let  him  get  started  on  that!" 
Danny  exclaimed,  earnestly.  "That  would  be 
the  last  touch." 

"Trust  me.     I—" 

But  Kirby  himself  appeared  at  that  moment, 
having  returned  from  a  voyage  of  exploration. 
Said  he:  "There's  a  good  town  below.  I  had  a, 
chance  to  sell  the  outfit." 

175 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Going  to  do  it?"  Danny  could  not  conceal 
his  eagerness. 

The  elder  man  shook  his  gray  head.  "Hardly. 
I'm  no  piker." 

"I  wish  you  and  Danny  would  take  the  port- 
age and  trust  the  pilot  to  run  the  rapids,"  Rou- 
letta  said. 

Kirby  turned  his  expressionless  face  upon  first 
one  then  the  other  of  his  companions.  "Nervous?" 
he  inquired  of  Royal. 

The  latter  silently  admitted  that  he  was. 

"Go  ahead.     You  and  Letty  cross  afoot — 

"And  you?" 

"Oh,  I'm  going  to  stick!" 

"Father —  "  the  girl  began,  but  old  Sam  shook 
his  head. 

"No.  This  is  my  case  bet,  and  I'm  going  to 
watch  it." 

Royal's  weazened  face  puckered  until  it  re- 
sembled more  than  ever  a  withered  apple.  "Then 
I'll  stick,  too,"  he  declared.  "I  never  laid  down 
on  you  yet,  Sam." 

"How  about  you,  Letty?" 

The  girl  smiled.  "Why,  I  wouldn't  trust  you 
boys  out  of  my  sight  for  a  minute.  Something 
would  surely  happen." 

Kirby  stooped  and  kissed  his  daughter's  cheek. 
"You've  always  been  our  mascot,  and  you've 
always  brought  us  luck.  I'd  go  to  hell  in  a  paper 
suit  if  you  were  along.  You're  a  game  kid,  too, 
and  I  want  you  to  be  like  that,  always.  Be  a 
thoroughbred.  Don't  weaken,  no  matter  how 

176 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

bad  things  break  for  you.  This  cargo  of  rum  is 
worth  the  best  claim  hi  Dawson,  and  it  '11  put  us 
on  our  feet  again.  All  I  want  is  one  more  chance. 
Double  and  quit — that's  us." 

This  was  an  extraordinarily  long  speech  for 
" One-armed"  Kirby;  it  showed  that  he  was 
deeply  in  earnest. 

" Double  and  quit?"  breathed  the  girl.  "Do 
you  mean  it,  dad?" 

He  nodded:  "I'm  going  to  leave  you  heeled. 
I  don't  aim  to  take  my  eyes  off  this  barge  again 
till  she's  in  Dawson." 

Rouletta's  face  was  transformed;  there  was  a 
great  gladness  hi  her  eyes — a  gladness  half  ob- 
scured by  tears.  "Double  and  quit.  Oh — I've 
dreamed  of — quitting — so  often!  You've  made 
me  very  happy,  dad." 

Royal,  who  knew  this  girl's  dreams  as  well  as  he 
knew  his  own,  felt  a  lump  in  his  throat.  He  was 
a  godless  little  man,  but  Rouletta  Kirby 's  joys 
were  holy  things  to  him,  her  tears  distressed  him 
deeply,  therefore  he  walked  away  to  avoid  the 
sight  of  them.  Her  slightest  wish  had  been  his 
law  ever  since  she  had  mastered  words  enough 
to  voice  a  request,  and  now  he,  too,  was  happy 
to  learn  that  Sam  Kirby  was  at  last  ready  to 
mold  his  future  in  accordance  with  her  desires. 
Letty  had  never  liked  their  mode  of  life;  she  had 
accepted  it  under  protest,  and  with  the  passing 
years  her  unspoken  disapproval  had  assumed  the 
proportions  of  a  great  reproach.  She  had  never 
put  that  disapproval  into  words — she  was  far 

177 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

loyal  for  that — but  Danny  had  known.  He 
knew  her  ambitions  and  her  possibilities,  and  he 
had  sufficient  vision  to  realize  something  of  the 
injustice  she  suffered  at  her  father's  hands.  Sam 
loved  his  daughter  as  few  parents  love  a  child, 
but  he  was  a  strange  man  and  he  showed  his 
affection  in  characteristic  ways.  It  pleased  Royal 
greatly  to  learn  that  the  old  man  had  awakened 
to  the  wrong  he  did,  and  that  this  adventure 
would  serve  to  close  the  story,  as  all  good  stories 
close,  with  a  happy  ending. 

In  spite  of  these  cheering  thoughts,  Danny  was 
unable  wholly  to  shake  off  his  oppressive  fore- 
bodings, and  as  he  paused  on  the  river-bank  to 
stare  with  gloomy  fascination  at  the  jaws  of  the 
gorge  they  returned  to  plague  him.  The  sound 
that  issued  out  of  that  place  was  terrifying,  the 
knowledge  that  it  frightened  him  enraged  the 
little  man. 

It  was  an  unpropitious  moment  for  any  one  to 
address  Royal;  therefore,  when  he  heard  himself 
spoken  to,  he  whirled  with  a  scowl  upon  his  face. 
A  tall  French-Canadian,  just  back  from  the 
portage,  was  saying: 

"M'sieu',  I  ain't  good  hand  at  mix  in  'noder 
feller's  bizneses,  but — dat  pilot  you  got  she's  no 
good." 

Royal  looked  the  stranger  over  from  head  to 
foot.  "How  d'you  know?"  he  inquired,  sharply. 

"Biccause — I'm  pilot  myse'f." 

"Oh,  I  see!  You're  one  of  the  good  ones." 
Danny's  air  was  surly,  his  tone  forbidding. 

178 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

"Yes." 

"Hate  yourself,  don't  you?  I  s'pose  you  want 
his  job.  Is  that  it?  No  wonder — five  hundred 
seeds  for  fifteen  minutes'  work.  Soft  graft,  I  call 
it."  The  speaker  laughed  unpleasantly.  "Well, 
what  does  a  good  pilot  charge?" 

"Me?"  The  Canadian  shrugged  indifferently. 
"I  charge  you  one  t'ousan'  dollar." 

Royal's  jaw  dropped.  "The  devil  you  say!" 
he  exclaimed. 

"  I  don't  want  de  job — your  scow's  no  good — but 
I  toss  a  coin  wit'  you.  One  t'ousan'  dollar  or — 
free  trip." 

"Nothing  doing,"  snapped  the  ex-horseman. 

"Bien!  Now  I  give  you  li'l  ad- vice.  Hoi' 
hard  to  de  right  in  lower  end  dis  canon.  Dere's 
beeg  rock  dere.  Don't  touch  'im  or  you  goin'  spin 
lak'  top  an'  mebbe  you  go  over  W'ite  'Orse  side- 
ways. Dat's  goin'  smash  you,  sure." 

Royal  broke  out,  peevishly:  "Another  hot  tip, 
eh?  Everybody's  got  some  feed-box  informa- 
tion— especially  the  ones  you  don't  hire.  Well, 
I  ain't  scared — " 

"  Oh  yes,  you  are !"  said  the  other  man.  "  Every* 
body  is  scare'  of  dis  place." 

"Anyhow,  I  ain't  scared  a  thousand  dollars' 
worth.  Takes  a  lot  to  scare  me  that  much.  I 
bet  this  place  is  as  safe  as  a  chapel  and  I 
bet  our  scow  goes  through  with  her  tail  up. 
Let  her  bump;  she'll  finish  with  me  on  her 
back  and  all  her  weights.  I  built  her  and  I 

named  her." 

179 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Danny  watched  the  pilot  as  he  swung  down  to 
the  stony  shore  and  rejoined  Pierce  Phillips;  then 
he  looked  on  in  fascination  while  they  removed 
their  outer  garments,  stepped  into  a  boat  with 
Kid  Bridges,  and  rowed  away  into  the  gorge. 

"It's — got  my  goat!"  muttered  the  little  jockey. 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  LTHOUGH  scows  larger  than  the  Rouletta  had 
**•  run  Miles  Canon  and  the  rapids  below  in 
safety,  perhaps  none  more  unwieldy  had  ever  done 
so.  Royal  had  built  his  barge  stoutly,  to  be  sure, 
but  of  other  virtues  the  craft  had  none.  When 
loaded  she  was  so  clumsy,  so  obstinate,  so  head- 
strong that  it  required  unceasing  effort  to  hold  her 
on  a  course;  as  for  rowing  her,  it  was  almost  im- 
possible. She  took  the  first  swooping  rush  into  the 
canon,  strange  to  say,  in  very  good  form,  and  there- 
after, by  dint  of  herculean  efforts,  Royal  and  his 
three  men  managed  to  hold  her  head  down-stream. 
Sweeping  between  the  palisades,  she  galloped 
clumsily  onward,  wallowing  like  a  hippopotamus. 
Her  long  pine  sweeps,  balanced  and  bored  to  re- 
ceive thick  thole-pins,  rose  and  fell  like  the  stiff 
legs  of  some  fat,  square-bodied  spider;  she  reared 
her  bluff  bow;  then  she  dove,  shrouding  herself 
in  spray. 

It  was  a  journey  to  terrify  experienced  river- 
men;  doubly  terrifying  was  it  to  Royal  and  Kirby, 
who  knew  nothing  whatever  of  swift  water  and  to 
whom  its  perils  were  magnified  a  thousandfold. 
In  spite  of  his  apprehension,  which  by  now  had 

181 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

quickened  into  panic,  Danny  rose  to  the  occasion 
with  real  credit.  His  face  was  like  paper,  his  eyes 
were  wide  and  strained;  nevertheless,  he  kept  his 
gaze  fixed  upon  the  pilot  and  strove  to  obey  the 
latter's  directions  implicitly.  Now  with  all  his 
strength  he  heaved  upon  his  sweep;  now  he 
backed  water  violently;  at  no  time  did  he  trust 
himself  to  look  at  the  cliffs  which  were  scudding 
past,  nor  to  contemplate  the  tortuous  turns  in  the 
gorge  ahead.  That  would  have  been  too  much 
for  him.  Even  when  his  clumsy  oar  all  but  grazed 
a  bastion,  or  when  a  jagged  promontoiy  seemed 
about  to  smash  his  craft,  he  refused  to  cease  his 
frantic  labors  or  to  more  than  lift  his  eyes.  He 
saw  that  Rouletta  Kirby  was  very  pale,  and  he 
tried  to  shout  a  word  of  encouragement  to  her,  but 
his  cry  was  thin  and  feeble,  and  it  failed  to  pierce 
the  thunder  of  the  waters.  Danny  hoped  the  girl 
was  not  as  frightened  as  he,  nor  as  old  Sam — the 
little  man  would  not  have  wished  such  a  punish- 
ment upon  his  worst  enemy. 

Kirby,  by  reason  of  his  disability,  of  course, 
was  prevented  from  lending  any  active  help  with 
the  boat  and  was  forced  to  play  a  purely  passive 
part.  That  it  was  not  to  his  liking  any  one  could 
have  seen,  for,  once  the  moorings  were  slipped, 
he  did  not  open  his  lips;  he  merely  stood  beside 
Rouletta,  with  the  fingers  of  his  right  hand  sunk 
into  her  shoulder,  his  gray  face  grayer  than  ever. 
Together  they  swayed  as  the  deck  beneath  them 
reeled  and  pitched. 

"Look!    We'n  nearly  through!"  the  girl  cried 

182 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

in  his  ear,  after  what  seemed  an  interminable 
time. 

Kirby  nodded.  Ahead  he  could  see  the  end  of 
the  canon  and  what  appeared  to  be  freer  water; 
out  into  this  open  space  the  torrent  flung  itself. 
The  scow  was  riding  the  bore,  that  ridge  of  water 
upthrust  by  reason  of  the  pressure  from  above; 
between  it  and  the  exit  from  the  chute  was 
a  rapidly  dwindling  expanse  of  tossing  waves. 
Kirby  was  great' y  relieved,  but  he  could  not 
understand  why  those  rollers  at  the  mouth  of 
the  gorge  should  rear  themselves  so  high  and 
should  foam  so  savagely. 

The  bluffs  ended,  the  narrow  throat  vomited 
the  river  out,  and  the  scow  galloped  from  shadow 
into  pale  sunlight. 

The  owner  of  the  outfit  drew  a  deep  breath,  his 
clutching  fingers  relaxed  their  nervous  hold.  He 
saw  that  Danny  was  trying  to  make  himself  heard 
and  he  leaned  forward  to  catch  the  fellow's  words, 
when  suddenly  the  impossible  happened.  The 
deck  beneath  his  feet  was  jerked  backward  and  he 
was  flung  to  his  knees.  Simultaneously  there  came 
a  crash,  the  sound  of  rending,  splintering  wood, 
and  over  the  stern  of  the  barge  poured  an  icy 
deluge  that  all  but  swept  father  and  daughter 
away.  Rouletta  screamed,  then  she  called  the 
name  of  Royal. 

" Danny!  Danny!"  she  cried,  for  both  she  and 
old  Sam  had  seen  a  terrible  thing. 

The  blade  of  Royal's  sweep  had  been  sub- 
merged at  the  instant  of  the  collision  and,  as  a 

183 


consequence,  the  force  of  that  rushing  current 
had  borne  it  forward,  catapulting  the  man  on  the 
other  end  overboard  as  cleanly,  as  easily  as  a 
school-boy  snaps  a  paper  pellet  from  the  end  of  a 
pencil.  Before  their  very  eyes  the  Kirbys  saw 
their  lieutenant,  their  lifelong  friend  and  servitor, 
picked  up  and  hurled  into  the  flood. 

" Danny!"  shrieked  the  girl.  The  voice  of  the 
rapids  had  changed  its  tone  now,  for  a  cataract 
was  drumming  upon  the  after-deck  and  there 
was  a  crashing  and  a  smashing  as  the  piles  of 
boxes  came  tumbling  down.  The  scow  drove 
higher  upon  the  reef,  its  bow  rose  until  it  stood  at 
a  sharp  incline,  and  meanwhile  wave  after  wave 
cut  like  a  broach  over  the  stern,  which  steadily 
sank  deeper.  Then  the  deck  tilted  drunkenly 
and  an  avalanche  of  case-goods  was  spilled  over 
the  side. 

Sam  Kirby  found  himself  knee-deep  in  ice  water; 
a  roller  came  curling  down  upon  him,  but  with  a 
frantic  clutch  he  laid  hold  of  his  daughter.  He 
sank  the  steel  hook  that  did  service  as  a  left  hand 
into  a  pile  of  freight  and  hung  on,  battling  to 
maintain  his  footing.  With  a  great  jarring  and 
jolting  the  Rouletta  rose  from  the  deluge,  hung 
balanced  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  then,  relieved 
of  a  portion  of  her  cargo,  righted  herself  and 
swung  broadside  to  the  stream  as  if  upon  a  pivot; 
finally  she  was  carried  free.  Onward  she  swept, 
turning  end  for  end,  pounding,  staggering,  as  other 
rocks  from  below  bit  into  her  bottom. 

The  river  was  very  low  at  this  season,  and  the 

184 


THE    WINDS    OF   CHANCE 

Rouletta,  riding  deep  because  half  filled,  found 
obstacles  she  would  otherwise  have  cleared.  She 
was  out  of  the  crooked  channel  now  and  it  was  im- 
possible to  manage  her,  so  in  a  crazy  succession  of 
loops  and  swoops  she  gyrated  down  toward  that 
tossing  mane  of  spray  that  marked  the  White 
Horse. 

With  eyes  of  terror  Sam  Kirby  scanned  the 
boiling  expanse  through  which  the  barge  was 
drifting,  but  nowhere  could  he  catch  sight  of 
Danny  Royal.  He  turned  to  shout  to  his  pilot, 
only  to  discover  that  he  also  was  missing  and 
that  the  steering-sweep  was  smashed. 

"God!  He's  gone!"  cried  the  old  man.  It  was 
true;  that  inundation  succeeding  the  mishap  had 
swept  the  after-deck  clean,  and  now  the  scow 
was  not  only  rudderless,  but  it  lacked  a  man  of 
experience  to  direct  its  course. 

Rouletta  Kirby  was  tugging  at  her  father's  arm. 
She  lifted  a  white,  horrified  face  to  his  and  ex- 
claimed: "Danny!  I  saw  him — go!" 

Her  father's  dead  face  was  twitching ;  he  nodded 
silently.  Then  he  pointed  at  the  cataract  toward 
which  they  were  being  carried.  He  opened  his 
lips  to  say  something,  but  one  of  the  crew  came 
running  back,  shouting  hoarsely  and  waving  his 
arms. 

"We're  going  over,"  the  fellow  clamored. 
"We'll  all  be  drowned!" 

Kirby  felled  him  with  a  blow  from  his  artificial 
hand;  then,  when  the  man  scrambled  to  his  feet, 
his  employer  ordered: 

185 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Get  busy!    Do  what  you  can!" 

For  himself,  he  took  Royal's  sweep  and  strug- 
gled with  it.  But  he  was  woefully  ignorant  of 
how  to  apply  his  strength  and  had  only  the  faint- 
est idea  what  he  ought  to  do. 

Meanwhile  the  thunder  of  the  White  Horse 
steadily  increased. 

Having  brought  the  last  of  the  Courteau  boats 
through  the  canon,  'Poleon  Doret  piloted  the  little 
flotilla  across  to  the  town  of  White  Horse  and  there 
collected  his  money,  while  Pierce  Phillips  and  the 
other  men  pitched  camp. 

The  labor  of  making  things  comfortable  for  the 
night  did  not  prevent  Lucky  Broad  from  discuss- 
ing at  some  length  the  exciting  incidents  of  the 
afternoon. 

"I  hope  her  Highness  got  an  eyeful  of  me  shoot- 
ing the  chutes,"  said  he,  "for  that's  my  farewell 
trip — positively  my  last  appearance  in  any  water 
act." 

"Mighty  decent  of  you  and  the  Kid  to  volun- 
teer," Pierce  told  him. 

"It  sure  was,"  the  other  agreed.  "Takes  a 
coupla  daredevils  like  him  and  me  to  pull  that 
kind  of  a  bonehead  play." 

Mr.  Bridges,  who  was  within  hearing  distance, 
shrugged  with  an  assumption  of  careless  indif- 
ference. "It  takes  more  'n  a  little  lather  to  scare 
me,"  ne  boasted.  "I'm  a  divin'  Venus  and  I  ate 
it  up!" 

"You — liar!"  Lucky  cried.     "Why,  every  quill 

186 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

on  your  head  was  standing  up  and  you  look  five 
years  older  'n  you  did  this  morning!  You  heard 
the  undertaker  shaking  out  your  shroud  all  the 
way  down — you  know  you  did.  I  never  seen  a 
man  as  scared  as  you  was!"  When  Bridges  ac- 
cepted the  accusation  with  a  grin,  the  speaker 
ran  on,  in  a  less  resentful  tone:  "I  don't  mind 
saying  it  hardened  my  arteries  some.  It  made 
me  think  of  all  my  sins  and  follies;  I  remem- 
bered all  the  bets  I'd  overlooked.  Recollect 
that  pioneer  we  laid  for  four  hundred  at  Dyea?" 

The  Kid  nodded.  "Sure!  I  remember  him 
easy.  He  squawked  so  loud  you  gave  him  back 
half  of  it." 

"And  all  the  time  he  had  a  thousand  sewed  in 
his  shirt !  Wasted  opportunities  like  that  lay  heavy 
on  a  man  when  he  hears  the  angels  tuning  up  and 
smells  the  calla-lilies." 

Bridges  agreed  in  all  seriousness,  and  went  on 
to  say:  "Lucky,  if  I  gotta  get  out  of  this  country 
the  way  I  got  into  it  I'm  going  to  let  you  bury  me 
in  Dawson.  Look  at  them  rapids  ahead  of  usf 
Why,  the  guy  that  laid  out  this  river  was  off  his 
nut!" 

"You're  talking  sense.  We'll  stick  till  they 
build  a  railroad  up  to  us  or  else  we'll  let  'em  pin 
a  pair  of  soft-pine  overcoats  on  the  two  of  us. 
The  idea  of  us  calling  ourselves  wiseacres  and 
doing  circus  stunts  like  this!  We're  suckers! 
We'll  be  working  in  the  mines  next.  I  bet  I'll 
see  you  poulticed  onto  a  pick-handle  before  we  get 
out." 

13  187 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Not  me!  I've  raised  my  last  blister,  and  if 
ever  I  get  another  callous  it  '11  be  from  layin'  abed. 
Safe  and  sane,  that's  me.  I — " 

Bridges'  words  were  cut  short  by  an  exclama- 
tion from  Doret,  who  had  approached,  in  com- 
pany with  the  Countess  Courteau. 

"Hallo !"  the  French  Canadian  broke  in.  " Dere 
comes  dat  beeg  barge." 

Out  from  the  lower  end  of  the  gorge  the  Kirby 
craft  had  emerged;  it  was  plunging  along  with 
explosions  of  white  foam  from  beneath  its  bow 
and  with  its  sweeps  rising  and  falling  rhythmically. 
To  Doret's  companions  it  seemed  that  the  scow 
had  come  through  handily  enough  and  was  in 
little  further  danger,  but  'Poleon,  for  some  reason 
or  other,  had  blazed  into  excitement.  Down  the 
bank  he  leaped;  then  he  raised  his  voice  and 
sent  forth  a  loud  cry.  It  was  wasted  effort,  for 
it  failed  to  carry.  Nevertheless,  the  warning 
note  in  his  voice  brought  his  hearers  running  after 
him. 

"  What's  the  matter?"  Pierce  inquired. 

The  pilot  paid  no  heed;  he  began  waving  his 
cap  in  long  sweeps,  cursing  meanwhile  in  a  patois 
which  the  others  could  not  understand. 

Even  while  they  stared  at  the  Rouletta  she 
drove  head  on  into  an  expanse  of  tumbling  break- 
ers, then — the  onlookers  could  not  believe  their 
eyes — she  stopped  dead  still,  as  if  she  had  come 
to  the  end  of  a  steel  cable  or  as  if  she  had  collided 
with  an  invisible  wall.  Instantly  her  entire  after 
part  was  smothered  in  white.  Slowly  her  bow 

188 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

rose  out  of  the  chaos  until  perhaps  ten  feet  of 
her  bottom  was  exposed,  then  she  assumed  a  list. 

The  Countess  uttered  a  strangled  exclamation. 
"Oh — h!  Did  you  see?  There's  a  man  over- 
board!" 

Her  eyes  were  quick,  but  others,  too,  had  be- 
held a  dark  bundle  picked  up  by  some  mysterious 
agency  and  flung  end  over  end  into  the  waves. 

The  Rouletta's  deck-load  was  dissolving;  a  mo- 
ment or  two  and  she  turned  completely  around, 
then  drifted  free. 

1  'Why — they  brought  the  girl  along!"  cried  the 
Countess,  in  growing  dismay.  ''Sam  Kirby 
should  have  had  better  sense.  He  ought  to  be 
hung—" 

From  the  tents  and  boats  along  the  bank,  from 
the  village  above,  people  were  assembling  hur- 
riedly, a  babel  of  oaths,  of  shouts  arose. 

Toleon  found  his  recent  employer  plucking  at 
his  sleeve. 

"  There's  a  woman  out  there — Kirby's  girl," 
she  was  crying.  "Can't  you  do  something?" 

"Wait!"  He  flung  off  her  grasp  and  watched 
intently. 

Soon  the  helpless  scow  was  abreast  of  the  en- 
campment, and  in  spite  of  the  frantic  efforts  of 
her  crew  to  propel  her  shoreward  she  drifted  mo- 
mentarily closer  to  the  cataract  below.  Mani- 
festly it  was  impossible  to  row  out  and  intercept 
the  derelict  before  she  took  the  plunge,  and  so, 
helpless  in  this  extremity,  the  audience  began  to 
stream  down  over  the  rounded  boulders  which 

189 


formed  the  margin  of  the  river.  On  the  opposite 
bank  another  crowd  was  keeping  pace  with  the 
wreck.  As  they  ran,  these  people  shouted  at 
one  another  and  gesticulated  wildly.  Their  faces 
were  white,  their  words  were  meaningless,  for  it  was 
a  spectacle  tense  with  imminent  disaster  that  they 
beheld;  it  turned  them  sick  with  apprehension. 

Immediately  above  White  Horse  the  current 
gathers  itself  for  the  final  plunge,  and  although, 
at  the  last  moment,  the  Rouletta  seemed  about  to 
straighten  herself  out  and  take  the  rapids  head 
on,  some  malign  influence  checked  her  swing  and 
she  lunged  over  quarteringly  to  the  torrent. 

A  roar  issued  from  the  throats  of  the  beholders ; 
the  craft  reappeared,  and  then,  a  moment  later, 
was  half  hidden  again  in  the  smother.  It  could 
be  seen  that  she  was  completely  awash  and  that 
those  galloping  white-maned  horses  were  charg- 
ing over  her.  She  was  buffeted  about  as  by  bat- 
tering-rams; the  remainder  of  her  cargo  was 
being  rapidly  torn  from  her  deck.  Soon  another 
shout  arose,  for  human  figures  could  be  seen  still 
clinging  to  her. 

Onward  the  scow  went,  until  once  again  she 
fetched  up  on  a  reef  or  a  rock  which  the  low 
stage  of  the  river  had  brought  close  to  the  sur- 
face; there  she  hung. 

'Poleon  Doret  had  gone  into  action  ere  this. 
Having  satisfied  himself  that  some  of  the  Rouletta' s 
crew  remained  alive,  he  cast  loose  the  painter  of 
the  nearest  skiff  and  called  to  Phillips,  who  was 
standing  close  by: 

190 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Come  on!  We  goin'  get  dose  people!" 
Now  Pierce  had  had  enough  rough  water  for 
one  day;  it  seemed  to  him  that  there  must  be 
other  men  in  this  crowd  better  qualified  by  train- 
ing than  he  to  undertake  this  rescue.  But  no  one 
stepped  forward,  and  so  he  obeyed  Doret's  order. 
As  he  slipped  out  of  his  coat  and  kicked  off  his 
boots,  he  reflected,  with  a  sinking  feeling  of  dis- 
appointment, that  his  emotions  were  not  by  any 
means  such  as  a  really  courageous  man  would 
experience.  He  was  completely  lacking  in  en- 
thusiasm for  this  enterprise,  for  it  struck  him  as 
risky,  nay,  foolhardy,  insane,  to  take  a  boat  over 
that  cataract  in  an  attempt  to  snatch  human 
beings  out  from  the  very  midst  of  those  threshing 
breakers.  It  seemed  more  than  likely  that  all 
hands  would  be  drowned  hi  the  undertaking,  and 
he  could  not  summon  the  reckless  abandon  neces- 
sary to  face  that  likelihood  with  anything  except 
the  frankest  apprehension.  He  was  surprised  at 
himself,  for  he  had  imagined  that  when  his  mo- 
ment came,  if  ever  it  did,  that  he,  Phillips,  would 
prove  to  be  a  rather  exceptional  person;  instead 
he  discovered  that  he  was  something  of  a  coward. 
The  unexpectedness  of  this  discovery  astonished 
the  young  man.  Being  deeply  and  thoroughly 
frightened,  it  was  nothing  less  than  the  abhorrence 
at  allowing  that  fright  to  become  known  which 
stiffened  his  determination.  In  his  own  sight  he 
dwindled  to  very  small  proportions;  then  came  the 
realization  that  Doret  was  having  difficulty  in 

securing  volunteers  to  go  with  them,  and  he  was 

IPI 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

considerably  heartened  at  finding  he  was  not 
greatly  different  from  the  rest  of  these  people. 

"Who's  goin'  he'p  us?"  the  Frenchman  was 
shouting.  "Come  now,  you  stout  fellers.  Dere's 
lady  on  dat  scow.  'Ain't  nobody  got  nerve?" 

It  was  a  tribute  to  the  manhood  of  the  North 
that  after  a  brief  hesitation  several  men  offered 
themselves.  At  the  last  moment,  however,  Broad 
and  Bridges  elbowed  the  others  aside,  saying: 
"Here,  you!  That's  our  boat  and  we  know  how 
she  handles." 

Into  the  skiff  they  piled  and  hurriedly  stripped 
down;  then,  in  obedience  to  Doret's  command, 
they  settled  themselves  at  the  forward  oars, 
leaving  Pierce  to  set  the  stroke. 

'Poleon  stood  braced  in  the  stern,  like  a  gon- 
dolier, and  when  willing  hands  had  shot  the  boat 
out  into  the  current  he  leaned  his  weight  upon 
the  after  oars;  beneath  his  and  Pierce's  efforts 
the  ash  blades  bent.  Out  into  the  hurrying  flood 
the  four  men  sent  their  craft;  then,  with  a  mighty 
heave,  the  pilot  swung  its  bow  down-stream  and 
helped  to  drive  it  directly  at  the  throat  of  the 
cataract. 

There  came  a  breath-taking  plunge  during  which 
the  rescuing  skiff  and  its  crew  were  hidden  from 
the  view  of  those  on  shore;  out  into  sight  they 
lunged  again  and,  in  a  cloud  of  spray,  went  gal- 
loping through  the  stampeding  waves.  At  risk  of 
capsizing  they  turned  around  and,  bat t?  ing  furi- 
ously against  the  current,  were  swept  down,  stern 
first,  upon  the  stranded  barge.  Doret's  face  was 

192 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

turned  back  over  his  shoulder,  he  was  measuring 
distance,  gauging  with  practised  eye  the  whims 
and  vagaries  of  the  tumbling  torrent;  when  he 
flung  himself  upon  the  oars  Pierce  Phillips  felt 
his  own  strength  completely  dwarfed  by  that  of 
the  big  pilot.  'Poleon's  hands  inclosed  his  in  a 
viselike  grasp;  he  wielded  the  sweeps  as  if  they 
were  reeds,  and  with  them  he  wielded  Phillips. 

Two  people  only  were  left  upon  the  Rouletta, 
that  sidewise  plunge  having  carried  the  crew  away. 
Once  again  Sam  Kirby's  artificial  hand  had  proved 
its  usefulness,  and  without  its  aid  it  is  doubtful 
if  either  he  or  his  daughter  could  have  withstood 
the  deluge.  For  a  second  time  he  had  sunk  that 
sharp  steel  hook  into  the  solid  wood  and  had  man- 
aged, by  virtue  of  that  advantage,  to  save  himself 
and  his  girl.  Both  of  them  were  half  drowned; 
they  were  well-nigh  frozen,  too;  now,  however, 
finding  themselves  in  temporary  security,  Kirby 
had  broached  one  of  the  few  remaining  cases  of 
bottled  goods.  As  the  rowboat  came  close  its 
occupants  saw  him  press  a  drink  upon  his  daugh- 
ter, then  gulp  one  for  himself. 

It  was  impossible  either  to  lay  the  skiff  along- 
side the  wreck  with  any  degree  of  care  or  to  hold 
her  there;  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  two  hulls  col- 
lided with  a  crash,  Kid  Bridges'  oar  snapped  off 
short  and  the  side  of  the  lighter  boat  was  smashed 
in.  Water  poured  over  the  rescuers.  For  an  in- 
stant it  seemed  that  they  were  doomed,  but, 
clawing  fiercely  at  whatever  they  could  lay  hands 
upon,  they  checked  their  progress  long  enough  for 

193 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

the  castaways  to  obey  Doret's  shout  of  command. 
The  girl  flung  herself  into  Pierce's  arms;  her  father 
followed,  landing  in  a  heap  amidships.  Even  as 
they  jumped  the  skiff  was  torn  away  and  hurried 
onward  by  the  flood. 

Sam  Kirby  raised  himself  to  his  knees  and 
turned  his  ashen  face  to  Rouletta. 

"Hurt  you  any,  kid?"  he  inquired. 

The  girl  shook  her  head.  She  was  very  white, 
her  teeth  were  chattering,  her  wet  dress  clung 
tightly  to  her  figure. 

Staring  fixedly  at  the  retreating  barge  the  old 
man  cried:  "All  gone!  All  gone!"  Then,  brac- 
ing himself  with  his  good  hand,  he  brandished  his 
steel  hook  at  the  rapids  and  heaped  curses  upon 
them. 

A  half-mile  below  the  wreck  'Poleon  Doret 
brought  his  crippled  skiff  into  an  eddy,  and  there 
the  crowd,  which  had  kept  pace  with  it  down  the 
river-bank,  lent  willing  assistance  in  effecting  a 
landing. 

As  Kirby  stepped  ashore  he  shook  hands  with 
the  men  who  had  jeopardized  their  lives  for  him 
and  his  daughter;  hi  a  cheerless,  colorless  voice 
he  said,  "It  looks  to  me  like  you  boys  had  a  drink 
coming."  From  his  coat  pocket  he  drew  a  bottle 
of  whisky;  with  a  blow  of  that  artificial  hand  he 
struck  off  its  neck  and  then  proffered  it  to  Doret. 
"Drink  hearty!"  said  he.  "It's  all  that's  left 
of  a  good  outfit!" 


CHAPTER  XII 

ACHILLA  twilight  had  fallen  by  the  time  the 
castaways  arrived  at  the  encampment  above 
the  rapids.  Kirby  and  his  daughter  were  shaking 
from  the  cold.  The  Countess  Courteau  hurried 
on  ahead  to  start  a  fire  in  her  tent,  and  thither 
she  insisted  upon  taking  Rouletta,  while  her  men 
attended  to  the  father's  comfort. 

On  the  way  up  there  had  been  considerable 
speculation  among  those  who  knew  Sam  Kirby 
best,  for  none  of  them  had  ever  seen  the  old  fellow 
in  quite  such  a  frame  of  mind  as  now.  His  mis- 
fortune had  crushed  him;  he  appeared  to  be 
numbed  by  the  realization  of  hie  overwhelming 
loss;  gone  entirely  was  that  gambler's  nonchalance 
for  which  he  was  famous.  The  winning  or  the 
losing  of  large  sums  of  money  had  never  deeply 
stirred  the  old  sporting-man;  the  turn  of  a  card, 
the  swift  tattoo  of  horses'  hoofs,  often  had  meant 
far  more  to  him  in  dollars  and  cents  than  the 
destruction  of  that  barge-load  of  liquor;  he  had 
seen  sizable  fortunes  come  and  go  without  a  sign 
of  emotion,  and  yet  to-night  he  was  utterly 
unnerved. 

With  a  man  of  less  physical  courage  such  an 

195 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

ordeal  as  he  had  undergone  might  well  have  ex- 
cused a  nervous  collapse,  but  Kirby  had  no  nerves; 
he  had,  times  without  number,  proved  himself 
to  be  a  man  of  steel,  and  so  it  greatly  puzzled  his 
friends  to  see  him  shaken  and  broken. 

He  referred  often  to  Danny  Royal's  fate,  speak- 
ing in  a  dazed  and  disbelieving  manner,  but 
through  that  daze  ran  lightning-bolts  of  blind, 
ferocious  race — rage  at  the  river,  rage  at  this 
hostile,  sinister  country  and  at  the  curse  it  had 
put  upon  him.  Over  and  over,  through  blue 
lips  and  chattering  teeth,  he  reviled  the  rapids; 
more  than  once  he  lifted  the  broken-necked  bottle 
to  his  lips.  Of  thanksgiving,  of  gratitude  at  his 
own  and  hio  daughter's  deliverance,  he  appeared 
to  have  none,  at  least  for  the  time  being. 

Rouletta's  condition  was  pitiable  enough,  but 
she  was  concerned  less  with  it  than  with  her 
father's  extraordinary  behavior,  and  when  the 
Countess  undertook  to  procure  for  her  dry  cloth- 
ing she  protested: 

"Please  don't  trouble.  I'll  warm  up  a  bit; 
then  I  must  go  back  to  dad." 

"My  dear,  you're  chilled  through — you'll  die 
in  those  wet  things,"  the  older  woman  told  her. 

Miss  Kirby  shook  her  head  and,  in  a  queer, 
strained,  apprehensive  voice,  said:  "You  don't 
understand.  He's  had  a  drink;  if  he  gets 
started — "  She  shivered  wretchedly  and  hid  her 
white  face  in  her  hands,  then  moaned:  "Oh,  what 
a  day!  Danny's  gone!  I  saw  him  drown — 

"There,  there!"    The  Countess  comforted  her 

196 


THE    WINDS    OF   CHANCE 

as  best  she  could.  "  You've  had  a  terrible  ex- 
perience, but  you  mustn't  think  of  it  just  yet. 
Now  let  me  help  you." 

Finding  that  the  girl's  fingers  were  stiff  and 
useless,  the  Countess  removed  the  wet  skirt  and 
jacket,  wrung  them  out,  and  hung  them  up.  Then 
she  produced  some  dry  undergarments,  but  Miss 
Kirby  refused  to  put  them  on. 

"You'll  need  what  few  things  you  have,"  said 
she,  "and — I'll  soon  warm  up.  There's  no  telling 
what  dad  will  do.  I  must  keep  an  eye  on  him." 

"You  give  yourself  too  much  concern.  He's 
chilled  through  and  it's  natural  that  he  should 
take  a  drink.  My  men  will  give  him  something 
dry  to  wear,  and  meanwlijue — " 

Rouletta  interrupted  with  a  shake  of  her  head, 
but  the  Countess  gently  persisted: 

"Don't  take  your  misfortune  too  hard.  The 
loss  of  your  outfit  means  nothing  compared  with 
your  safety.  It  was  a  great  tragedy,  of  course, 
but  you  and  your  father  were  saved.  You  still 
have  him  and  he  has  you." 

"Danny  knew  what  was  coming,"  said  the  girl, 
and  tears  welled  into  her  eyes,  then  slowly  over- 
flowed down  her  white  cheeks.  "But  he  faced  it. 
He  was  game.  He  was  a  good  man  at  heart. 
He  had  his  faults,  of  course,  but  he  loved  dad  and 
he  loved  me;  why,  he  used  to  carry  me  out  to 
see  the  horses  before  I  could  walk;  he  was  my 
friend,  my  playmate,  my  pal.  He'd  have  done 
murder  for  me!"  Through  her  tears  Rouletta 
looked  up.  "It's  hard  for  you  to  believe  that  I 

197 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

know,  after  what  he  did  to  you,  but — you  know 
how  men  are  on  the  trail.  Nothing  matters.  He 
was  angry  when  you  outwitted  him,  and  so  was 
father,  for  that  matter,  but  I  told  them  it  served 
us  right  and  I  forbade  them  to  molest  you  further." 

"You  did  that?  Then  it's  you  I  have  to 
thank."  The  Countess  smiled  gravely.  "I  could 
never  understand  why  I  came  off  so  easily." 

"I'm  glad  I  made  them  behave.  You've  more 
than  repaid — "  Rouletta  paused,  she  strained 
her  ears  to  catch  the  sound  of  voices  from  the 
neighboring  tents.  "I  don't  hear  father,"  said 
she.  "I  wonder  if  he  could  have  gone?" 

"Perhaps  the  men  have  put  him  to  bed — " 

But  Miss  Kirby  would  not  accept  this  explana- 
tion. "I'm  afraid — "  Again  she  listened  ap- 
prehensively. "Once  he  gets  a  taste  of  liquor 
there's  no  handling  him;  he's  terrible.  Even 
Danny  couldn't  do  anything  with  him;  sometimes 
even  I  have  failed."  Hurriedly  she  took  down  her 
sodden  skirt  and  made  as  if  to  draw  it  on. 

"Oh,  child,  you  mustn't!  You  simply  must 
not  go  out  this  way.  Wait  here.  I'll  find  him 
for  you  and  make  sure  he's  all  right." 

The  half -clad  girl  smiled  miserably.  "Thank 
you,"  said  she.  But  when  the  Countess  had 
stepped  out  into  the  night  she  finished  dress- 
ing herself.  Her  clothing,  of  course,  was  as  wet 
as  ever,  for  the  warmth  of  the  tent  in  these 
few  moments  bad  not  even  heated  it  through; 
nevertheless,  her  apprehension  was  so  keen  that 

she  was  conscious  of  little  bodily  discomfort. 

198 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

"You  were  right,"  the  Countess  announced 
when  she  returned.  "He  slipped  into  some  bor- 
rowed clothes  and  went  up-town.  He  told  the 
boys  he  couldn't  sit  still.  But  you  mustn't  fol- 
low— at  least  in  that  dress — " 

"Did  he — drink  any  more?'1 

"I'm  afraid  he  did." 

Heedless  of  the  elder  woman's  restraining 
hands,  Rouletta  Kirby  made  for  the  tent  opening. 
"Please  don't  stop  me,"  she  implored.  "There's 
no  time  to  lose  and — I'll  dry  out  in  tune." 

"Let  me  go  for  you." 

"No,  no!" 

"Then  may  I  go  along?" 

Again  the  girl  shook  her  head.  "I  can  handle 
him  better  alone.  He's  a  strange  man,  a  terrible 
man,  when  he's  this  way.  I — hope  I'm  not  too 
late." 

Rouletta's  wet  skirts  slatted  about  her  ankles 
as  she  ran;  it  was  a  windy,  chilly  night,  and,  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  it  was  a  steep  climb  to  the 
top  of  the  low  bluff,  she  was  chilled  to  the  bone 
when  she  came  panting  into  the  sprawling  cluster 
of  habitations  that  formed  the  temporary  town 
of  White  Horse.  Tents  were  scattered  over  a 
dim,  stumpy  clearing,  lights  shone  through  trees 
that  were  still  standing,  a  meandering  trail  led 
past  a  straggling  row  of  canvas-topped  structures, 
and  from  one  of  these  issued  the  wavering,  metallic 
notes  of  a  phonograph,  advertising  the  place  as  a 
house  of  entertainment. 

Sam  Kirby  was  at  the  bar  when  his  daughter 

199 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

discovered  him,  and  her  first  searching  look 
brought  dismay  to  the  girl.  Pushing  her  way 
through  the  crowd,  she  said,  quietly: 

"Father!" 

"Hello!"  he  exclaimed,  in  surprise.  "What  are 
you  doing  here?" 

"I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

"Now,  Letty,"  he  protested,  when  sne  had 
drawn  him  aside,  "haven't  you  been  through 
enough  for  one  day?  Run  back  to  the  Countess' 
camp  where  I  left  you." 

"Don't  drink  any  more,"  she  imolored.  with  an 
agony  of  dread  in  her  face. 

Kirby's  bleak  countenance  set  itself  in  stony 
lines.  "I've  got  to,"  said  he.  "I'm  cold — frozen 
to  the  quick.  I  need  something  to  warm  me  up." 

Letty  could  smell  the  whisky  on  his  breath,  she 
could  see  a  new  light  in  his  eyes  and  already  she 
sensed  rather  than  observed  a  subtle  change  in  his 
demeanor. 

"Oh,  dad!"  she  quavered;  then  she  bowed  her 
head  weakly  upon  his  arm  and  her  shoulders 
shook. 

Kirby  laid  a  gentle  hand  upon  her,  then  ex- 
claimed, in  surprise:  "Why,  kid,  you're  still  wet! 
Got  those  same  clothes  on,  haven't  you?"  He 
raised  his  voice  to  the  men  he  had  just  left. 
"Want  to  see  the  gamest  girl  in  the  world?  Well, 
here  she  is.  You  saw  how  she  took  her  medicine 
to-day?  Now  listen  to  this:  she's  wet  through, 
but  she  came  looking  for  her  old  dad — afraid  he'd 
get  into  trouble!" 

200 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Disregarding  the  crowd  and  the  appreciative 
murmur  her  father's  praise  evoked,  Rouletta 
begged,  in  a  low,  earnest  voice:  "Please,  dear, 
come  away.  Please — you  know  why.  Come 
away — won't  you — for  my  sake?" 

Kirby  stirred  uneasily.  "I  tell  you  I'm  cold," 
he  muttered,  but  stopped  short,  staring.  "Yes, 
and  I  see  Danny.  I  see  him  as  he  went  overboard. 
Drowned!  I'll  never  get  him  out  of  my  sight. 
I  can't  seem  to  understand  that  he's  gone,  but — 
everything's  gone,  for  that  matter.  Everything!" 

"Oh  no,  dad.  Why,  you're  here  and  I'm  here! 
We've  been  broke  before." 

Kirby  smiled  again,  but  cheerlessly.  "Oh,  ve 
ain't  exactly  broke;  I've  got  the  bank-roll  on  me 
and  it  '11  pull  us  through.  Wfe've  had  bad  luck 
for  a  year  or  two,  but  it's  bound  to  change.  You 
cheer  up — and  come  over  to  the  stove.  WTiat 
you  need  is  to  warm  up  while  I  get  you  a  little 
drink." 

Rouletta  gazed  up  into  the  gray  face  above  her. 
"Dad,  look  at  me."  She  took  his  hand.  " Haven't 
we  had  enough  trouble  for  one  day?" 

The  gambler  was  irritated  at  this  persistence 
and  he  showed  it.  "Don't  be  foolish,"  he  cried, 
shortly.  "I  know  what  I  need  and  I  know  what 
I  can  stand.  These  men  are  friends  of  mine,  and 
you  needn't  be  uneasy.  Now,  kid,  you  let  me  find 
a  place  for  you  to  spend  the  night." 

"Not  until  you're  ready  to  go  along." 

"All  right,  stick  around  for  a  little  while.     I 

won't  be  long."     Old  Sam  drew  a  bench  up  beside 

201 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

the  stove  and  seated  the  girl  upon  it.  "I'm  all 
broke  up  and  I've  just  got  to  keep  moving/' 
he  explained,  more  feelingly.  Then  he  returned 
to  the  bar. 

Realizing  that  he  was  completely  out  of  hand 
and  that  further  argument  was  futile,  Rouletta 
Kirby  settled  herself  to  wait.  In  spite  of  her 
misery,  it  never  occurred  to  her  to  abandon  her 
father  to  his  own  devices,  even  for  an  hour — she 
knew  him  too  well  to  run  that  risk.  But  her  very 
bones  were  frozen  and  she  shivered  wretchedly 
as  she  held  her  shoes  up  to  the  stove.  Although 
the  fire  began  slowly  to  dry  her  outer  garments, 
the  clothes  next  to  her  flesh  remained  cold  and 
clammy.  Even  so,  their  chill  was  as  nothing  to 
the  icy  dread  that  paralyzed  the  very  core  of  her 
being. 

Pierce  Phillips  told  himself  that  this  had  been 
a  wonderful  day — an  epoch-making  day — for  him. 
Lately  he  had  been  conscious  that  the  North  was 
working  a  change  in  him,  but  the  precise  extent 
of  that  change,  even  the  direction  it  was  taking, 
had  not  been  altogether  clear;  now,  however,  he 
thought  he  understood. 

He  had  been  quite  right,  that  first  hour  in 
Dyea,  when  he  told  himself  that  Life  lay  just 
ahead  of  him — just  over  the  Chilkoot.  Such,  in- 
deed, had  proved  to  be  the  case.  Yes,  and  it  had 
welcomed  him  with  open  arms;  it  had  ushered 
him  into  a  new  and  wondrous  world.  His  hands 
had  fallen  to  men's  tasks,  experience  had  come  to 

202 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

him  by  leaps  and  bounds.  In  a  rush  he  had 
emerged  from  groping  boyhood  into  full  maturity; 
physically,  mentally,  morally,  he  had  grown  strong 
and  broad  and  brown.  Having  abandoned  him- 
self to  the  tides  of  circumstance,  he  had  been 
swept  into  a  new  existence  where  Adventure  had 
rubbed  shoulders  with  him,  where  Love  had 
smiled  into  his  eyes.  Danger  had  tested  his 
mettle,  too,  and  to-day  the  final  climax  had  come. 
What  roused  his  deepest  satisfaction  now  was  the 
knowledge  that  he  had  met  that  climax  with 
credit.  To-night  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had 
reached  full  manhood,  and  in  the  first  flush  of 
realization  he  assured  himself  that  he  could  no 
longer  drift  with  the  aimless  current  of  events, 
but  must  begin  to  shape  affairs  to  his  own  ends. 
More  than  once  of  late  he  had  pondered  a  cer- 
tain thought,  and  now,  having  arrived  at  a  de- 
cision, he  determined  to  act  upon  it.  Ever  since 
that  stormy  evening  at  Linderman  his  infatuation 
for  Hilda  had  increased,  but,  owing  to  circum- 
stances, he  had  been  thwarted  in  enjoying  its  full 
delights.  During  the  daylight  hours  of  their  trip, 
as  matter  of  fact,  the  two  had  never  been  alone 
together  even  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour;  they  had 
scarcely  had  a  word  in  confidence,  and  hi  conse- 
quence he  had  been  forced  to  derive  what  comfort 
he  could  from  a  chance  look,  a  smile,  some  in- 
flection of  her  voice.  Even  at  night,  after  camp 
was  pitched,  it  had  been  little  better,  for  the 
thin  w^alls  of  her  canvas  shelter  afforded  little 
privacy,  and.  being  mindful  of  appearances,  he 

14  203 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

had  never  permitted  himself  to  be  alone  with  her 
very  long  at  a  time — only  long  enough,  in  fact, 
to  make  sure  that  his  happiness  was  not  all  a 
dream.  A  vibrant  protestation  now  and  then,  a 
secret  kiss  or  two,  a  few  stolen  moments  of 
delirium,  that  was  as  far  as  his  love-affair  had 
progressed.  Not  yet  had  he  and  Hilda  arrived 
at  a  definite  understanding;  never  had  they 
thoroughly  talked  out  the  subject  that  engrossed 
them  both,  never  had  they  found  either  time  or 
opportunity  in  which  to  do  more  than  sigh  and 
whisper  and  hold  hands,  and  as  a  result  the  woman 
remained  almost  as  much  of  a  mystery  to  Pierce  as 
she  had  been  at  the  moment  of  her  first  surrender. 

It  was  an  intolerable  situation,  and  so,  under 
the  spell  of  his  buoyant  spirits,  he  determined  to 
make  an  end  of  it  once  for  all. 

The  Countess  recognized  his  step  when  he  came 
to  her  tent  and  she  spoke  to  him.  Mistaking  her 
greeting  for  permission  to  enter,  he  untied  the 
strings  and  stepped  inside,  only  to  find  her  un- 
prepared for  his  reception.  She  had  made  her 
shelter  snug,  a  lively  fire  was  burning,  the  place 
was  fragrant  of  pine  boughs,  and  a  few  deft 
feminine  touches  here  and  there  had  transformed 
it  into  a  boudoir.  Hilda  had  removed  her  jacket 
and  waist  and  was  occupied  in  combing  her  hair, 
but  at  Pierce's  unexpected  entrance  she  hurriedly 
gathered  the  golden  shower  about  her  bare  shoul- 
ders and  voiced  a  protest  at  his  intrusion.  He 
stood  smiling  down  at  her  and  refused  to  with- 
draw. 

204 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Never  had  Phillips  seen  such  an  alluring  picture. 
Now  that  her  hair  was  undone,  its  length  and  its 
profusion  surprised  him,  for  it  completely  mantled 
her,  and  through  it  the  snowy  whiteness  of  her 
bare  arms,  folded  protectingly  across  her  rounded 
breasts,  was  dazzling.  The  sight  put  him  in  a 
conquering  mood;  he  strode  forward,  lifted  her 
into  his  embrace,  then  smothered  her  gasping 
protest  with  his  lips.  For  a  long  moment  they 
stood  thus.  Finally  the  woman  freed  herself, 
then  chided  him  breathlessly,  but  the  fragrance 
of  her  hair  had  gone  to  his  brain;  he  continued 
to  hold  her  tight,  meanwhile  burying  his  face 
in  the  golden  cascade. 

Roughly,  masterfully,  he  rained  kisses  upon  her. 
He  devoured  her  with  his  caresses,  and  the  heat 
of  his  ardor  melted  her  resistance  un,til,  finally, 
she  surrendered,  abandoning  herself  wholly  to  his 
passion. 

When,  after  a  time,  she  flung  back  her  head 
and  pushed  him  away,  her  face,  her  neck,  her 
shoulders  were  suffused  with  a  coral  pinkness  and 
her  eyes  were  misty. 

"  You  must  be  careful!"  she  whispered  in  a  tone 
that  was  less  of  a  remonstrance  than  an  invitation. 
"Remember,  we're  making  shadowgraphs  for  our 
neighbors.  That's  the  worst  of  a  tent  at  night — 
one  silhouettes  one's  very  thoughts." 

"Then  put  out  the  light,"  he  muttered,  thickly; 
but  she  slipped  away,  and  her  moist  lips  mocked 
him  in  silent  laughter. 

"The   idea!    What   in   the   world    has    como 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

over  you?  Why,  you're  the  most  impetuous 
boy-" 

"Boy!"  Pierce  grimaced  his  disUke  of  the 
word.  "Don't  be  motherly;  don't  treat  me  as  if 
I  had  rompers  on.  You're  positively  maddening 
to-night.  I  never  saw  you  like  this.  Why,  your 
hair" — he  ran  his  hands  through  that  silken 
shower  once  more  and  pressed  it  to  his  face — "it's 
glorious!" 

The  Countess  slipped  into  a  combing- jacket; 
then  she  seated  herself  on  the  springy  couch  of 
pine  branches  over  which  her  fur  robe  was  spread, 
and  deftly  caught  up  her  long  runaway  tresses, 
securing  them  in  place  with  a  few  mysterious 
twists  and  expert  manipulations. 

"Boy,  indeed!"  he  scoffed,  flinging  himself 
down  beside  her.  "That's  over  with,  long  ago." 

"Oh,  I  don't  feel  motherly,"  she  asserted,  still 
suffused  with  that  telltale  flush.  "Not  in  the  way 
you  mean.  But  you'll  always  be  a  boy  to  me — 
and  to  every  other  woman  who  learns  to  care 
for  you." 

"Every  other  woman?"  Pierce's  eyes  opened. 
"What  a  queer  speech.  There  aren't  going  to 
be  any  other  women."  He  looked  on  while  she 
lighted  a  cigarette,  then  after  a  moment  he  in- 
quired, "What  do  you  mean?" 

She  answered  him  with  another  question.  "Do 
you  think  I'm  the  only  woman  who  will  love  you?" 

"Why — I  haven't  given  it  any  thought !  What's 
the  difference,  as  long  as  you're  the  only  one  / 
care  for?  And  I  do  love  you,  I  worship— 

206 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"But  there  will  be  others,"  she  persisted. 
"There  are  bound  to  be.  You're  that  kind." 

"Really?" 

The  Countess  nodded  her  head  with  emphasis. 
"I  can  read  men;  I  can  see  the  color  of  their  souls. 
You  have  the  call." 

"What  call?"    Pierce  was  puzzled. 

"The — well,  the  sex-call,  the  sex  appeal." 

"Indeed?  Am  I  supposed  to  feel  flattered  at 
that?" 

"By  no  means;  you're  not  a  cad.  Men  who 
possess  that  attraction  are  spoiled  sooner  or  later. 
You  don't  realize  that  you  have  it,  and  that's 
what  makes  you  so  nice,  but — I  felt  it  from  the 
first,  and  when  you  feel  it  you'll  probably  become 
spoiled,  too,  like  the  others."  This  amused 
Phillips,  but  the  *woman  was  in  sober  earnest. 
"I  mean  what  I  say.  You're  the  kind  who  cause 
women  to  make  fools  of  themselves — old  or  young, 
married  or  single.  When  a  girl  has  it— she's 
lost." 

"I'm  not  sure  I  understand.  At  any  rate,  you 
haven't  made  a  fool  of  yourself." 

"No?"  The  Countess  smiled  vaguely,  ques- 
tioningly.  She  opened  her  lips  to  say  more,  but 
changed  her  mind  and  in  an  altered  tone  declared, 
"My  dear  boy,  if  you  understood  fully  what  I'm 
driving  at  you'd  be  insufferable."  Laying  her 
warm  hand  over  his,  she  continued:  "You  resent 
what  you  call  my  'motherly  way,'  but  if  I  were 
sixteen  and  you  were  forty  it  would  be  just  the 
same.  Women  who  are  afflicted  with  that  sex 

207 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

appeal  become  men's  playthings;  the  man  who 
possesses  it  always  remains  a  '  boy '  to  the  woman 
who  loves  him — a  bad  boy,  a  dangerous  boy,  per- 
haps, but  a  boy,  nevertheless.  She  may,  and 
probably  will,  adore  him  fiercely,  passionately, 
jealously,  but  at  the  same  time  she  will  hover 
him  as  a  hen  hovers  her  chick.  He  will  be  both 
son  and  lover  to  her." 

He  had  listened  closely,  but  now  he  stirred 
uneasily.  "I  don't  follow  you,"  he  said.  "And 
it  isn't  exactly  pleasant  for  a  fellow  to  be  told 
that  he's  a  baby  Don  Juan,  to  be  called  a  male 
vampire  in  knee-pants — especially  by  the  woman 
he's  going  to  marry."  Disregarding  her  attempt 
to  speak,  he  went  on:  "What  you  said  about 
other  women — the  way  you  said  it — sounded  al- 
most as  if — well,  as  if  you  expected  there  would 
be  such,  and  didn't  greatly  care.  You  didn't 
mean  it  that  way,  I  hope.  You  do  care,  don't 
you,  dear?  You  do  love  me?"  The  face  Phillips 
turned  upon  the  Countess  Courteau  was  earnest, 
worried. 

Her  fingers  tightened  over  his  hand.  When  she 
spoke  there  was  a  certain  listlessness,  a  certain 
fatigue  in  her  tone.  "Do  you  need  to  ask  that 
after — what  happened  just  now?  Of  course  I 
care.  I  care  altogether  too  much.  That's  the 
whole  trouble.  You  see,  the  thing  has  run  away 
with  me,  Pierce;  it  has  carried  me  off  my  feet, 
and — that's  precisely  the  point  I'm  trying  to 
make." 

He  slipped  an  arm  about  her  waist  and  drew 

208 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

her  close.  "I  knew  it  wasn't  merely  an  animal 
appeal  that  stirred  you.  I  knew  it  was  something 
bigger  and  more  lasting  than  that." 

"Even  yet  you  don't  understand,"  she  declared. 
"The  two  may  go  together  and—  But  without 
allowing  her  to  finish  he  said,  vibrantly: 

"  Whatever  it  is,  you  seem  to  find  it  an  obstacle, 
an  objection.  Why  struggle  against  the  inevi- 
table? You  are  struggling — I've  seen  you  fighting 
something  ever  since  that  first  night  when  truth 
came  to  us  out  of  the  storm.  But,  Hilda  dear, 
I  adore  you.  You're  the  most  wonderful  creature 
in  the  world !  You're  a  goddess !  I  feel  unworthy 
to  touch  the  hem  of  your  garments,  but  I  know 
that  you  are  mine!  Nothing  else  matters.  Think 
of  the  miracle,  the  wonder  of  it!  It's  like  a  beau- 
tiful dream.  I've  had  doubts  about  myself,  and 
that's  why  I've  let  matters  drift.  You  see,  I  was 
a  sort  of  unknown  quantity,  but  now  I  know  that 
I've  found  myself.  To-day  I  went  through  hell 
and — I  came  out  a  man.  I'm  going  to  play  a 
man's  part  right  along  after  this."  He  urged  her 
eagerly.  "We've  a  hard  trip  ahead  of  us  before 
we  reach  Dawson;  winter  may  overtake  us  and 
delay  us.  We  can't  continue  in  this  way.  Why 
wait  any  longer?" 

"You  mean — ?"  the  woman  inquired,  faintly. 

"I  mean  this — marry  me  here,  to-morrow." 

"No,  no!  Please —  The  Countess  freed  her- 
self from  Pierce' s  embrace. 

"WTiy  not?  Are  you  afraid  of  me?"  She 
shook  her  head  silently. 

209 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Then  why  not  to-morrow  instead  of  next 
month?  Are  you  afraid  of  yourself?" 

"No,  I'm  afraid  of — what  I  must  tell  you." 

Phillips'  eyes  were  dun  with  desire,  he  was 
ablaze  with  yearning;  in  a  voice  that  shook  he 
said:  " Don't  tell  me  anything.  I  won't  hear  it!" 
Then,  after  a  brief  struggle  with  himself,  he  con- 
tinued, more  evenly:  "That  ought  to  prove  to 
you  that  I've  grown  up.  I  couldn't  have  said  it 
three  months  ago,  but  I've  stepped  out  of — of 
the  nursery  into  a  world  of  big  things  and  big 
people,  and  I  want  you.  I  dare  say  you've  lived 
— a  woman  like  you  must  have  had  many  ex- 
periences, many  obstacles  to  overcome;  but — 
I  might  not  understand  what  they  were  even  if 
you  told  me,  for  I'm  pretty  green.  Anyhow,  I'm 
sure  you're  good.  I  wouldn't  believe  you  if  you 
told  me  you  weren't.  It's  no  credit  to  me  that 
I  haven't  confessions  of  my  own  to  make,  for 
I'm  like  other  men  and  it  merely  so  happens  that 
I've  had  no  chance  to — soil  myself.  The  credit 
is  due  to  circumstance." 

"Everything  is  due  to  circumstance,"  the 
woman  said.  "Our  lives  are  haphazard  affairs; 
we're  blown  by  chance — 

"We'll  take  a  new  start  to-morrow  and  bury 
the  past,  whatever  it  is." 

"You  make  it  absolutely  necessary  for  me  to 
speak,"  the  Countess  told  him.  Her  tone  again 
had  a  touch  of  weariness  in  it,  but  Pierce  did  not 
see  this.  "I  knew  I'd  have  to,  sooner  or  later,  but 

it  was  nice  to  drift  and  to  dream — oh,  it  was 

210 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

pleasant — so  I  bit  down  on  my  tongue  and  I 
listened  to  nothing  but  the  song  in  my  heart." 
She  favored  Pierce  with  that  shadowy,  luminous 
smile  he  had  come  to  know.  "It  was  a  clean, 
sweet  song  and  it  meant  a  great  deal  to  me." 
When  he  undertook  to  caress  her  she  drew  away, 
then  sat  forward  with  her  heels  tucked  close  into 
the  pine  boughs,  her  chin  upon  her  knees.  It 
was  her  favorite  attitude  of  meditation;  wrapped 
thus  in  the  embrace  of  her  own  arms,  she  ap- 
peared to  gain  the  strength  and  the  determination 
necessary  to  go  on. 

"I'm  not  a  weak  woman,"  she  began,  staring 
at  the  naked  candle-flame  which  gave  light  to 
the  tent.  "It  wasn't  weakness  that  impelled  me 
to  marry  a  man  I  didn't  love;  it  was  the  determi- 
nation to  get  ahead  and  the  ambition  to  make 
something  worth  while  out  of  myself — a  form  of 
selfishness,  perhaps,  but  I  tell  you  all  women 
are  selfish.  Anyhow,  he  seemed  to  promise  better 
things  and  to  open  a  way  whereby  I  could  make 
something  out  of  rriy  life.  Instead  of  that  he 
opened  my  eyes  and  showed  me  the  world  as  it 
is,  not  as  I  had  imagined  it  to  be.  He  was — no 
good.  You  may  think  I  was  unhappy  over  that, 
but  I  wasn't.  Really,  he  didn't  mean  much  to 
me.  What  did  grieve  me,  though,  was  the  death 
of  my  illusions.  He  was  mercenary — the  fault  of 
his  training,  I  dare  say — but  he  had  that  man- 
call  I  spoke  about.  It's  really  a  woman-call. 
He  was  weak,  worthless,  full  of  .faults,  mean  in 
small  things,  but  he  had  an  attraction  and  it 

211 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

was  impossible  to  resist  mothering  him.  Other 
women  felt  it  and  yielded  to  it,  so  finally  we  went 
our  separate  ways.  I've  seen  nothing  of  him  for 
some  tune  now,  but  he  keeps  in  touch  with  me 
and — I've  sent  him  a  good  deal  of  money.  When 
he  learns  that  I  have  prospered  in  a  big  way  he'll 
undoubtedly  turn  up  again." 

Pierce  weighed  the  significance  of  these  words; 
then  he  smiled.  "Dear,  it's  all  the  more  reason 
why  we  should  be  married  at  once.  I'd  dare  him 
to  annoy  you  then." 

"My  boy,  don't  you  understand?  I  can't 
marry  you,  being  still  married  to  him." 

Phillips  recoiled;  his  face  whitened.  Dismay, 
reproach,  a  shocked  surprise  were  in  the  look  he 
turned  upon  his  companion. 

"Still  married!"  he  gasped.     "Oh— Hilda!" 

She  nodded  and  lowered  her  eyes.  "I  supposed 
you  knew — until  I  got  to  telling  you,  and  then  it 
was  too  late." 

Pierce  rose;  his  lips  now  were  as  colorless  as  his 
cheeks.  "I'm  surprised,  hurt,"  he  managed  to 
say.  "How  should  I  know?  WTiy,  this  is 
wretched — rotten!  People  will  say  that  I've  got 
hi  a  mess  with  a  married  woman.  That's  what  it 
looks  like,  too."  His  voice  broke  huskily.  "How 
could  you  do  it,  when  I  meant  my  love  to  be  clean, 
honorable?  How  could  you  let  me  put  myself, 
and  you,  in  such  a  position?" 

"You  see!"  The  woman  continued  to  avoid 
his  eye.  "You  haven't  grown  up.  You  haven't 
the  least  understanding." 

212 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"I  understand  this  much,"  he  cried,  hotly, 
"that  you've  led  me  to  make  something  worse 
than  a  cad  of  myself.  Look  here!  There  are 
certain  things  which  no  decent  fellow  goes  in  for 
— certain  things  he  despises  in  other  men — and 
that's  one  of  them."  He  turned  as  if  to  leave, 
then  he  halted  at  the  tent  door  and  battled  with 
himself.  After  a  moment,  during  which  the 
Countess  Courteau  watched  him  fixedly,  he 
whirled,  crying: 

"Well,  the  damage  is  done.  I  love  you.  I 
can't  go  along  without  you.  Divorce  that  man. 
I'll  wait." 

"I'm  not  sure  I  have  legal  grounds  for  a  divorce. 
I'm  not  sure  that  I  care  to  put  the  matter  to  a 
test — as  yet." 

"  What?"  Pierce  gazed  at  her,  trying  to  under- 
stand. "Say  that  over  again!" 

"You  think  you've  found  yourself,  but — have 
you?  I  know  men  pretty  well  and  I  think  I 
know  you.  You've  changed — yes,  tremendously 
— but  what  of  a  year,  two  years  from  now? 
You've  barely  tasted  life  and  this  is  your  first 
intoxication." 

"Do  you  love  me,  or  do  you  not?"  he  de- 
manded. 

"I  love  you  as  you  are  now.  I  may  hate  you 
as  you  will  be  to-morrow.  I've  had  my  growth; 
I've  been  through  what  you're  just  beginning — 
we  can't  change  together." 

"Then  will  you  promise  to  marry  me  after- 
ward?" 

213 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

The  Countess  shook  her  head.  "It's  a  promise 
that  would  hold  only  me.  Why  ask  it?" 

"You're  thinking  of  no  one  but  yourself,"  he 
protested,  furiously.  "Think  of  me.  I've  given 
you  all  I  have,  all  that's  best  and  finest  in  me. 
I  shall  never  love  another  woman — 

"Not  in  quite  the  way  you  love  me,  perhaps, 
but  the  peach  ripens  even  after  its  bloom  has  been 
rubbed  off.  You  have  given  me  what  is  best  and 
finest,  your  first  love,  and  I  shall  cherish  it." 

"Will  you  marry  me?"  he  cried,  hoarsely. 
She  made  a  silent  refusal. 

"Then  I  can  put  but  one  interpretation  upon 
your  actions." 

"Don't  be  too  hasty  in  your  judgment.  Can't 
you  see?  I  was  weak.  I  was  tired.  Then  you 
came,  like  a  draught  of  wine,  and — I  lost  my  head. 
But  I've  regained  it.  I  dreamed  my  dream,  but 
it's  daylight  now  and  I'm  awake.  I  know  that 
you  believe  me  a  heartless,  selfish  woman.  May- 
be I  am,  but  I've  tried  to  think  for  you,  and  to 
act  on  that  good  impulse.  I  tell  you  I  would  have 
been  quite  incapable  of  it  before  I  knew  you. 
A  day,  a  month,  a  year  of  happiness!  Most 
women  of  my  age  and  experience  would  snatch 
at  it,  but  I'm  looking  farther  ahead  than  that. 
I  can't  afford  another  mistake.  Life  fits  me,  but 
you — why,  you're  bursting  your  seams." 

"You've  puzzled  me  with  a  lot  of  words,"  the 
young  man  said,  with  ever-growing  resentment, 
"but  what  do  they  all  amount  to?  You  amused 
yourself  with  me  aixd  you're  ready  enough  to 

214 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

continue  so  long  as  I  pour  my  devotion  at  your 
feet.  Well,  I  won't  do  it.  If  you  loved  me 
truly  you  wouldn't  refuse  to  marry  me.  Isn't 
that  so?  True  love  isn't  afraid,  it  doesn't  quibble 
and  temporize  and  split  hairs  the  way  you  do. 
No,  it  steps  out  boldly  and  follows  the  light. 
You've  had  your  fun,  you've — broken  my  heart." 
Phillips'  voice  shook  and  he  swallowed  hard. 
"I'm  through;  I'm  done.  I  shall  never  love 
another  woman  as  I  love  you,  but  if  what  you 
said  about  that  sex-call  is  true,  I — I'll  play  the 
game  as  you  played  it."  He  turned  blindly  and 
with  lowered  head  plunged  out  of  the  tent  into 
the  night. 

The  Countess  listened  to  the  sounds  of  his  de- 
parting footsteps;  then,  when  they  had  ceased, 
she  rose  wearily  and  flung  out  her  arms.  There 
was  a  real  and  poignant  distress  in  her  eyes. 

"Boy!  Boy!"  she  whispered.  "It  was  sweet, 
but — there  had  to  be  an  end." 

For  a  long  time  she  stood  staring  at  nothing; 
then  she  roused  herself  with  a  shiver,  refilled  the 
stove,  and  seated  herself  again,  dropping  her  chin 
upon  her  knees  as  she  did  instinctively  when  in 
deep  thought. 

"If  only  I  were  sure,"  she  kept  repeating  to 
herself.  "But  he  has  the  call  and — I'm  too  old." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

OULETTA  KIRBY  could  not  manage  to  get 
A  V  warm.  The  longer  she  sat  beside  the  stove  tho 
colder  she  became.  This  was  not  strange,  for  the 
room  was  draughty,  people  were  constantly  coming 
in  and  going  out,  and  when  the  door  was  opened 
the  wind  caused  the  canvas  walls  of  the  saloon  to 
bulge  and  its  roof  to  slap  upon  the  rafters.  The 
patrons  were  warmly  clad  in  mackinaw,  flannel, 
and  fur.  To  them  the  place  was  comfortable 
enough,  but  to  the  girl  who  sat  swathed  hi  sodden 
undergarments  it  was  like  a  refrigerator.  More 
than  once  she  regretted  her  heedless  refusal  of 
the  Countess  Courteau's  offer  of  a  change;  sev- 
eral times,  in  fact,  she  was  upon  the  point  of 
returning  to  claim  it,  but  she  shrank  from  facing 
that  wintry  wind,  so  low  had  her  vitality  fallen. 
Then,  too,  she  reasoned  that  it  would  be  no  easy 
task  to  find  the  Countess  at  this  hour  of  the  night, 
for  the  beach  was  lined  with  a  mile  of  tents,  all 
more  or  less  alike.  She  pictured  the  search,  her- 
self groping  her  way  from  one  to  another,  and 
mumbling  excuses  to  surprised  occupants.  No, 
it  was  better  to  stay  here  beside  the  fire  until 
her  clothes  dried  out. 

216 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

She  would  have  reminded  her  father  of  her  dis- 
comfort and  claimed  his  assistance  only  for  the 
certainty  that  he  would  send  her  off  to  bed,  which 
was  precisely  what  she  sought  to  prevent.  Her 
presence  irritated  him;  nevertheless,  she  knew 
that  his  safety  lay  in  her  remaining.  Sam  Kirby 
sober  was  in  many  ways  the  best  of  fathers;  he 
was  generous,  he  was  gentle,  he  was  considerate. 
Sam  Kirby  drunk  was  another  man  entirely — 
a  thoughtless,  wilful,  cruel  man,  subject  to  vagaries 
of  temper  that  were  as  mysterious  to  the  girl 
who  knew  him  so  well  as  they  were  dangerous  to 
friend  and  foe  alike.  He  was  drunk  now,  or  in 
that  peculiar  condition  that  passed  with  him  for 
drunkenness.  Intoxication  in  his  case  was  less 
a  condition  of  body  than  a  frame  of  mind,  and 
it  required  no  considerable  amount  of  liquor  to 
work  the  change.  Whisky,  even  in  small  quanti- 
ties, served  to  suspend  certain  of  his  mental  func- 
tions; it  paralyzed  one  lobe  of  his  brain,  as  it 
were,  while  it  aroused  other  faculties  to  a  preter- 
natural activity  and  awoke  sleeping  devils  in  him. 
The  more  he  drank  the  more  violent  became  his 
destructive  mood,  the  more  firmly  rooted  became 
his  tendencies  and  proclivities  for  evil.  The  girl 
well  knew  that  this  was  an  hour  when  he  needed 
careful  watching  and  when  to  leave  him  unguarded, 
even  temporarily,  meant  disaster.  Rouletta 
clenched  her  chattering  teeth  and  tried  to  ignore 
the  chills  that  raced  up  and  down  her  body. 

White  Horse,  at  this  time,  was  purely  a  make- 
shift camp,  hence  it  had  no  facilities  for  gambling. 

217 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

The  saloons  themselves  were  little  more  than 
liquor  caches  which  had  been  opened  overnight 
for  the  purpose  of  reaping  quick  profits;  therefore 
such  games  of  chance  as  went  on  were  for  the  most 
part  between  professional  gamblers  who  happened 
to  be  passing  through  and  who  chose  to  amuse 
themselves  in  that  way. 

After  perhaps  an  hour,  during  which  a  con- 
siderable crowd  had  come  and  gone,  Sam  Kirby 
broke  away  from  the  group  with  which  he  had 
been  drinking  and  made  for  the  door.  As  he 
passed  Rouletta  he  paused  to  say: 

"I'm  going  to  drift  around  a  bit,  kid,  and  see 
if  I  can't  stir  up  a  little  game." 

"Where  are  we  going  to  put  up  for  the  night?" 
his  daughter  inquired. 

"I  don't  know  yet;  it's  early.  Want  to  turn 
in?" 

Rouletta  shook  her  head. 

"I'll  find  a  place  somewhere.  Now  you  stick 
here  where  it's  nice  and  warm.  I'll  be  back  by 
and  by." 

With  sinking  heart  the  girl  watched  him  go. 
After  a  moment  she  rose  and  followed  him  out 
into  the  night.  She  was  surprised  to  discover 
that  the  mud  under  foot  had  frozen  and  that  the 
north  wind  bore  a  burden  of  fine,  hard  snow  par- 
ticles. Keeping  well  out  of  sight,  she  stumbled 
to  another  saloon  door,  and  then,  after  shivering 
wretchedly  outside  for  a  while,  she  stole  in  and 
crept  up  behind  the  stove. 

She  was  very  miserable  indeed  by  this  time, 

218 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

and  as  the  evening  wore  slowly  on  her  misery 
increased.  After  a  while  her  father  began  shak- 
ing dice  with  some  strangers,  and  the  size  of  their 
wagers  drew  an  audience  of  interested  bystanders. 

Rouletta  realized  that  she  should  not  have  ex- 
posed herself  anew  to  the  cold,  for  now  her  sensa- 
tions had  become  vaguely  alarming.  She  could 
not  even  begin  to  get  warm,  except  now  and  then 
when  a  burning  fever  replaced  her  chill;  she  felt 
weak  and  ill  inside;  the  ringers  she  pressed  to 
her  aching  temples  were  like  icicles.  Eventually 
— she  had  lost  all  track  of  time — her  condition 
became  intolerable  and  she  decided  to  risk  her 
father's  displeasure  by  interrupting  him  and  de- 
manding that  he  secure  for  both  of  them  a  lodging- 
place  at  once. 

There  were  several  bank-notes  of  large  denomi- 
nation on  the  plank  bar-top  and  Sam  Kirby 
was  watching  a  cast  of  dice  when  his  daughter 
approached;  therefore  he  did  not  see  her.  Nor 
did  he  turn  his  head  when  she  laid  a  hand  upon 
his  arm. 

Now  women,  especially  pretty  women,  were 
common  enough  sights  in  Alaskan  drinking-places. 
So  it  was  not  strange  that  Rouletta's  presence 
had  occasioned  neither  comment  nor  curiosity. 
More  than  once  during  the  last  hour  or  two  men 
had  spoken  to  her  with  easy  familiarity,  but  tney 
had  taken  no  offense  when  she  had  turned  her 
back.  It  was  quite  natural,  therefore,  that  the 
fellow  with  whom  K'rby  was  gambling  should  in- 
terpret her  effort  to  claim  attention  as  an  attempt 

15  219 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

to  interrupt  the  game,  and  that  he  should  misread 
the  meaning  of  her  imploring  look.  There  being 
considerable  money  at  stake,  he  frowned  down 
at  her,  then  with  an  impatient  gesture  he  brushed 
her  aside. 

"None  of  that,  sister!"  he  warned  her.  "You 
get  out  of  here." 

Sam  Kirby  was  in  the  midst  of  a  discussion  with 
the  proprietor,  across  the  bar,  and  because  there 
was  a  deal  of  noise  in  the  place  he  did  not  hear 
his  daughter's  low-spoken  protest. 

"Oh,  I  mean  it!"  The  former  speaker  scowled 
at  Rouietta.  "You  dolls  make  me  sick,  grabbing 
at  every  nickel  you  see.  Beat  it,  now!  There's 
plenty  of  young  suckers  for  you  to  trim.  If  you 
can't  respe3t  an  old  man  with  gray  hair,  why— 
The  rest  of  his  remark  caused  the  girl's  eyes  to 
widen  and  the  chattering  voices  to  fall  silent. 

Sam  Kirby  turned,  the  dice-box  poised  in  his 
right  hand. 

"Eh?    What's  that?"  he  queried,  vaguely. 

"I'm  talking  to  this  pink-faced  gold-digger — " 

"Father!"  Rouietta  exclaimed. 

"I'm  just  telling  her—" 

The  fellow  repeated  his  remark,  whereupon 
understanding  came  to  Kirby  and  his  expression 
slowly  altered.  Surprise,  incredulity,  gave  place 
to  rage;  his  eyes  began  to  blaze. 

"You  said  that  to — her?"  he  gasped,  hi  amaze- 
ment. "To  my  kid?"  There  was  a  moment  of 
tense  silence  during  which  the  speaker  appeared 

to  be  numbed  by  the  insult,  then,  "By  God!" 

220 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Sam  placed  the  dice-box  carefully  upon  the  bar. 
His  movement  was  deliberate,  but  he  kept  his 
flaming  gaze  fixed  upon  the  object  of  his  wrath, 
and  into  his  lean,  ashen  countenance  came  such 
demoniac  fury  as  to  appal  those  who  saw  it. 

Rouletta  uttered  a  faint  moan  and  flung  her- 
self at  her  father;  with  a  strength  born  of  terror 
she  clung  to  his  right  wrist.  In  this  she  was  suc- 
cessful, despite  old  Sam's  effort  to  shake  her  off, 
but  she  could  not  imprison  both  his  arms.  Kirby 
stepped  forward,  dragging  the  girl  with  him;  he 
raised  that  wicked  artificial  left  hand  and  brought 
it  sweeping  downward,  and  for  a  second  time  that 
day  the  steel  shaft  met  flesh  and  bone.  His  vic- 
tim spun  upon  his  heels,  then,  with  outflung  arms 
and  an  expression  of  shocked  amazement  still 
upon  his  face,  he  crashed  backward  to  the  floor. 

Kirby  strode  to  him;  before  other  hands  could 
come  to  Rouietta's  assistance  and  bear  him  out 
of  reach  he  twice  buried  his  heavy  hobnailed  boot 
in  the  prostrate  figure.  He  presented  a  terrible 
exhibition  of  animal  ferocity,  for  he  was  growling 
oaths  deep  in  his  throat  and  in  his  eyes  was  the 
light  of  murder.  He  fought  for  liberty  with  which 
to  finish  his  task,  and  those  who  restrained  him 
found  that  somehow  he  had  managed  to  draw  an 
ivory-handled  six-shooter  from  some  place  of 
concealment.  Nor  could  they  wrench  the  weapon 
away  from  him. 

"He  insulted  my  kid — my  girl  Letty!"  Kirby 
muttered,  hoarsely. 

When  the  fallen  man  had  been  lifted  to  his  feet 
221 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

and  hurried  out  of  the  saloon  old  Sam  tried  his 
best  to  follow,  but  his  captors  held  him  fast. 
They  pleaded  with  him,  they  argued,  they  pacified 
him  as  well  as  they  could.  It  was  a  long  time, 
however,  before  they  dared  trust  him  alone  with 
Rouletta,  and  even  then  they  turned  watchful 
eyes  hi  his  direction. 

"I  didn't  want  anything  to  happen."  The 
girl  spoke  listlessly. 

Kirby  began  to  rumble  again,  but  she  inter- 
rupted him.  "  It  wasn't  the  man's  fault.  It  was 
a  perfectly  natural  mistake  on  his  part,  and  I've 
learned  to  expect  such  things.  I — I'm  sick,  dad. 
You  must  find  a  place  for  me,  quick." 

Sam  agreed  readily  enough.  The  biting  cold 
of  the  wind  met  them  at  the  door.  Rouletta, 
summoning  what  strength  she  could,  trudged  along 
at  his  side.  It  did  not  take  them  long  to  canvass 
the  town  and  to  discover  that  there  were  no  lodg- 
ings to  be  had.  Rouletta  halted  finally,  explaining 
through  teeth  that  chattered: 

"I — I'm  frozen!  Take  me  back  where  there's 
a  stove — back  to  the  saloon — anywhere.  Only 
do  it  quickly." 

"Pshaw!  It  isn't  cold,"  Kirby  protested, 
mildly. 

The  nature  of  this  remark  showed  more  plainly 
than  anything  he  had  said  or  done  during  the 
evening  that  the  speaker  was  not  himself.  It 
signified  such  a  dreadful  change  in  him,  it  marked 
so  surely  the  extent  of  his  metamorphosis,  that 
Rouletta' s  tears  came. 

222 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

"  Looks  like  we'd  have  to  make  the  best  of  it 
and  stay  awake  till  morning/'  the  father  went  on, 
dully. 

"No,  no!  I'm  too  sick,"  the  girl  sobbed,  "and 
too  cold.  Leave  me  where  I  can  keep  warm;  then 
go  find  the  Countess  and — ask  her  to  put  me  up." 

Returning  to  their  starting-point,  Kirby  saw  to 
his  daughter's  comfort  as  best  he  could,  after 
which  he  wandered  out  into  the  night  once  more. 
His  intentions  were  good,  but  he  was  not  a  little 
out  of  patience  with  Letty  and  still  very  angry 
with  the  man  who  had  affronted  her;  rage  at  the 
insult  glowed  within  his  disordered  brain  and  he 
determined,  before  he  had  gone  very  far,  that 
his  first  duty  was  to  right  that  wrong.  Probably 
the  miscreant  was  somewhere  around,  or,  if  not, 
he  would  soon  make  his  appearance.  Sam  de- 
cided to  postpone  his  errand  long  enough  to  look 
through  the  other  drinking-places  and  to  settle 
the  score. 

No  one,  on  seeing  him  thus,  would  have  sus- 
pected that  he  was  drunk;  he  walked  straight, 
his  tongue  was  obedient,  and  he  was  master  of 
his  physical  powers  to  a  deceptive  degree;  only 
in  his  abnormally  alert  and  feverish  eyes  was 
there  a  sign  that  his  brain  was  completely  crazed. 

Rouletta  waited  for  a  long  while,  and  steadily 
her  condition  grew  worse.  She  became  light- 
headed, and  frequently  lost  herself  in  a  sort  of 
painful  doze.  She  did  not  really  sleep,  however, 
for  her  eyes  were  open  and  staring;  her  wits 
wandered  away  on  nightmare  journeys,  returning 

223 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

only  when  the  pains  became  keener.  Her  fever 
was  high  now;  she  was  nauseated,  listless;  her 
chest  ached  and  her  breathing  troubled  her  when 
she  was  conscious  enough  to  think.  Her  sur- 
roundings became  unreal,  too,  the  faces  that  ap- 
peared and  disappeared  before  her  were  the  faces 
of  dream  figures. 

Unmindful  of  his  daughter's  need,  heedless  of 
the  passage  of  time,  Sam  Kirby  loitered  about 
the  saloons  and  waited  patiently  for  the  coming 
of  a  certain  man.  After  a  time  he  bought  some 
chips  and  sat  in  a  poker  game,  but  he  paid  less 
attention  to  the  spots  on  his  cards  than  to  the 
door  through  which  men  came  and  went.  These 
latter  he  eyed  with  the  unblinking  stare  of  a 
serpent. 

Pierce  Phillips'  life  was  ruined.  He  was  sure 
of  it.  Precisely  what  constituted  a  ruined  life, 
just  how  much  such  a  one  differed  from  a  success- 
ful life,  he  had  only  the  vaguest  idea,  but  his  own, 
at  the  moment,  was  tasteless,  spoiled.  Dire  con- 
sequences were  bound  to  follow  such  a  tragedy 
as  this,  so  he  told  himself,  and  he  looked  forward 
with  gloomy  satisfaction  to  their  realization; 
whatever  they  should  prove  to  be,  however  ter- 
rible the  fate  that  was  to  overtake  him,  the  guilt, 
the  responsibility  therefor,  lay  entirely  upon  the 
heartless  woman  who  had  worked  the  evil,  and  he 
earnestly  hoped  they  would  be  brought  home  to 
her. 

Yes,    the   Countess   Courteau   was   heartless, 

224 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

wicked,  cruel.  Her  unsuspected  selfishness,  her 
lack  of  genuine  sentiment,  her  cool,  calculating 
caution,  were  shocking.  Pierce  had  utterly  mis- 
read her  at  first ;  that  was  plain. 

That  he  was  really  hurt,  deeply  distressed,  sore- 
ly aggrieved,  was  true  enough,  for  his  love — in- 
fatuation, if  you  will — was  perfectly  genuine  and 
exceedingly  vital.  Nothing  is  more  real,  more 
vital,  than  a  normal  boy's  first  infatuation,  un- 
less it  be  the  first  infatuation  of  a  girl;  precisely 
wherein  it  differs  from  the  riper,  less  demon- 
strative affection  that  comes  with  later  years 
and  wider  experience  is  not  altogether  plain. 
Certainly  it  is  more  spontaneous,  more  poignant; 
certainly  it  has  in  it  equal  possibilities  for  good  or 
evil.  How  deep  or  how  disfiguring  the  scar  it 
leaves  depends  entirely  upon  the  healing  process. 
But,  for  that  matter,  the  same  applies  to  every 
heart  affair. 

Had  Phillips  been  older  and  wiser  he  would  not 
have  yielded  so  readily  to  despair;  experience 
would  have  taught  him  that  a  woman's  "No"  is 
not  a  refusal;  wisdom  would  have  told  him  that 
the  absolute  does  not  exist.  But,  being  neither 
experienced  nor  wise,  he  mistook  the  downfall  of 
his  castle  for  the  wreck  of  the  universe,  and  it 
never  occurred  to  him  that  he  could  salvage  some- 
thing, or,  if  need  be,  rebuild  upon  the  same 
foundations. 

What  he  could  neither  forget  nor  forgive  at  this 
moment  was  the  fact  that  Hilda  had  not  only 

led  him  to  sacrifice  his  honor,  or  its  appearance, 

225 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

but  also  that  when  he  had  managed  to  reconcile 
himself  to  that  wrong  she  had  lacked  the  cour- 
age to  meet  him  half-way.  There  were  but  two 
explanations  of  her  action:  either  she  was  weak 
and  cowardly  or  else  she  did  not  love  him.  Neither 
afforded  much  consolation. 

in  choosing  a  course  of  conduct  no  man  is  strong 
enough  to  divorce  himself  entirely  from  his  desires, 
to  tollow  the  light  of  pure  reason,  for  memories, 
impulses,  yearnings  are  bound  to  bring  confusion. 
Although  Pierce  told  himself  that  he  must  re- 
nounce this  woman — that  he  had  renounced  her — 
nevertheless  he  recalled  with  a  thrill  the  touch 
of  her  bare  arms  and  the  perfume  of  her  stream- 
ing golden  hair  as  he  had  buried  his  face  in  it, 
and  the  keenness  of  those  memories  caused  him 
to  cry  out.  The  sex-call  had  been  stronger  than 
he  had  realized;  therefore,  to  his  present  grief  was 
added  an  inescapable,  almost  irresistible  feeling  of 
physical  distress — a  frenzy  of  balked  desire— 
which  caused  him  to  waver  irresolutely,  confusing 
the  issue  dreadfully. 

For  a  long  time  he  wandered  through  the  night, 
fighting  his  animal  and  his  spiritual  longings, 
battling  with  irresolution,  striving  to  reconcile 
himself  to  the  crash  that  had  overwhelmed  him. 
More  than  once  he  was  upon  the  point  of  rushing 
back  to  the  woman  and  pouring  out  the  full  tide 
of  his  passion  in  a  desperate  attempt  to  sweep 
away  her  doubts  and  her  apprehensions.  What 
if  she  should  refuse  to  respond?  He  would  merely 
succeed  in  making  himself  ridiculous  and  in  sac- 

226 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

rificing  what  little  appearance  of  dignity  he  re- 
tained. Thus  pride  prevented,  uncertainty  par- 
alyzed him. 

Some  women,  it  seemed  to  him,  not  bad  in 
themselves,  were  born  to  work  evil,  and  evidently 
Hilda  was  one  of  them.  She  had  done  her  task 
well  in  this  instance,  for  she  had  thoroughly 
blasted  his  life!  He  would  pretend  to  forget, 
but  nevertheless  he  would  see  to  it  that  she  was 
undeceived,  and  that  the  injury  she  had  done  him 
remained  an  ever-present  reproach  to  her.  That 
would  be  his  revenge.  Real  forgetfulness,  of 
course,  was  out  of  the  question.  How  could  he 
assume  such  an  attitude?  As  he  pondered  the 
question  he  remembered  that  there  were  artificial 
aids  to  oblivion.  Ruined  men  invariably  took  to 
drink.  Why  shouldn't  he  attempt  to  drown  his 
sorrows?  After  all,  might  there  not  be  real  and 
actual  relief  in  liquor?  After  consideration  he 
decided  to  try  it. 

From  a  tent  saloon  near  by  came  the  sounds 
of  singing  and  of  laughter,  and  thither  he  turned 
his  steps.  WTien  he  entered  the  place  a  lively 
scene  greeted  him.  Somehow  or  other  a  small 
portable  organ  had  been  secured,  and  at  this  a 
bearded  fellow  in  a  mackinaw  coat  was  seated. 
He  was  playing  a  spirited  accompaniment  for 
two  women,  sisters,  evidently,  who  sang  with  the 
loud  abandon  of  professional  "coon  shouters." 
Other  women  were  present,  and  Phillips  recog- 
nized them  as  members  of  that  theatrical  troupe 
he  had  seen  at  Sheep  Camp — as  those  "actresses" 

227 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

to  whom  Tom  Linton  had  referred  with  such  elab- 
orate sarcasm.  All  of  them,  it  appeared,  were 
out  for  a  good  time,  and  in  consequence  White 
Horse  was  being  treated  to  a  free  concert. 

The  song  ended  in  a  burst  of  laughter  and  ap- 
plause, the  men  at  the  bar  pounded  with  their 
glasses,  and  there  was  a  general  exodus  in  that  di- 
rection. One  of  the  sisters  flung  herself  enthusi- 
astically upon  the  volunteer  organist  and  dragged 
him  with  her.  There  was  much  hilarity  and  a 
general  atmosphere  of  license  and  unrestraint. 

Phillips  looked  on  moodily;  he  frowned,  his 
lip  curled.  All  the  world  was  happy,  it  seemed, 
while  he  nursed  a  broken  heart.  Well,  that  was 
hi  accord  with  the  scheme  of  things — life  was  a 
mad,  topsy-turvy  affair  at  best,  and  there  was 
nothing  stable  about  any  part  of  it.  He  felt 
very  grim,  very  desperate,  very  much  abused 
and  very  much  outside  of  all  this  merriment. 

Men  were  playing  cards  at  the  rear  of  the  saloon, 
and  among  the  number  was  Sam  Kirby.  The  old 
gambler  showed  no  signs  of  his  trying  experience 
of  the  afternoon;  in  fact,  it  appeared  to  have  been 
banished  utterly  from  his  mind.  He  was  drinking, 
and  even  while  Pierce  looked  on  he  rapped  sharp- 
ly with  his  iron  hand  to  call  the  bartender's  at- 
tention. Meanwhile  he  scanned  intently  the  faces 
of  all  new-comers. 

When  the  crowd  had  surged  back  to  the  organ 
Pierce  found  a  place  at  the  bar  and  called  for  a 
drink  of  whisky — the  first  he  had  ever  ordered. 
This  was  the  end  he  told  himself. 

228 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

He  poured  the  glass  nearly  full,  then  he  gulped 
the  liquor  down.  It  tasted  much  as  it  smelled, 
hence  he  derived  little  enjoyment  from  the  ex- 
perience. As  he  stripped  a  bill  from  his  sizable 
roll  of  bank-notes  the  bartender  eyed  him  curious- 
ly and  seemed  upon  the  point  of  speaking,  but 
Pierce  turned  his  shoulder. 

After  perhaps  five  minutes  the  young  man 
acknowledged  a  vague  disappointment;  if  this 
was  intoxication  there  was  mighty  little  satis- 
faction in  it,  he  decided,  and  no  forgetfulness 
whatever.  He  was  growing  dizzy,  to  be  sure,  but 
aside  from  that  and  from  the  fact  that  his  eye- 
sight was  somewhat  uncertain  he  could  feel  no 
unusual  effect.  Perhaps  he  expected  too  much; 
perhaps,  also,  he  had  drunk  too  sparingly.  Again 
he  called  for  the  bottle,  again  he  filled  his  glass, 
again  he  carelessly  displayed  his  handful  of  paper 
currency. 

Engaged  thus,  he  heard  a  voice  close  to  his  ear; 
it  said: 

"Hello,  man!" 

Pierce  turned  to  discover  that  a  girl  was  lean- 
ing with  elbows  upon  the  plank  counter  at  his  side 
and  looking  at  him.  Her  chin  was  supported  upon 
her  clasped  fingers;  she  was  staring  into  his  face. 

She  eyed  him  silently  for  a  moment,  during 
which  he  returned  her  unsmiling  gaze.  She 
dropped  her  ey.es  to  the  whisky-glass,  then 
raised  them  again  to  his. 

"Can  you  take  a  drink  like  that  and  not  feel 
it?"  she  inquired. 

229 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"No.  I  want  to  feel  it;  that's  why  I  take  it," 
he  said,  gruffly. 

"What's  the  idea?" 

"Idea?  Well,  it's  my  own  idea — my  own 
business." 

The  girl  took  no  offense;  she  maintained  her 
curious  observation  of  him;  she  appeared  genuine- 
ly interested  in  acquainting  herself  with  a  man 
who  could  master  such  a  phenomenal  quantity 
of  liquor.  There  was  mystification  in  her  tone 
when  she  said: 

"But — I  saw  you  come  in  alone.  And  now 
you're  drinking  alone." 

"Is  that  a  reproach?  I  beg  your  pardon." 
Pierce  swept  her  a  mocking  bow.  "Wh^t  will 
you  have?" 

Without  removing  her  chin  from  its  resting- 
place,  the  stranger  shook  her  head  shortly,  so  he 
downed  his  beverage  as  before.  The  girl  watched 
him  interestedly  as  he  paid  for  it. 

"That's  more  money  than  I've  seen  in  a  month," 
said  she.  "I  wouldn't,  be  so  free  and  easy  with 
it,  if  I  were  you." 

"No?    Why  not?" 

She  merely  shrugged,  and  continued  to  study 
hun  with  that  same  disconcerting  intentness — she 
reminded  him  of  a  frank  and  curious  child. 

Pierce  noticed  now  that  she  was  a  very  pretty 
girl,  and  quite  appropriately  dressed,  under  the 
circumstances.  She  wore  a  boy's  suit,  with  a 
short  skirt  over  her  knickerbockers,  and,  since 
she  was  slim,  the  garments  added  to  her  appear- 

230 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

ance  of  immaturity.  Her  face  was  oval  in  out- 
line, and  it  was  of  a  perfectly  uniform  olive  tint; 
her  eyes  were  large  and  black  and  velvety,  their 
lashes  were  long,  their  lids  were  faintly  smudged 
with  a  shadowy  under-coloring  that  magnified 
their  size  and  intensified  their  brilliance.  Her 
hair  was  almost  black,  nevertheless  it  was  of 
fine  texture;  a  few  unruly  strands  had  escaped 
from  beneath  her  fur  cap  and  they  clouded 
her  brow  and  temples.  At  first  sight  she 
appeared  to  be  foreign,  and  of  that  smoky 
type  commonly  associated  with  the  Russian 
idea  of  beauty,  but  she  was  not  foreign,  not 
Russian;  nor  were  her  features  predominantly 
racial. 

"What's  your  name?"  she  asked,  suddenly. 

Pierce  told  her.    "And  yours?"  he  inquired. 

"Laure." 

"Laure  what?" 

"Just  Laure — for  the  present." 

"Humph!  You're  one  of  this — theatrical  com- 
pany, I  presume."  He  indicated  the  singers 
across  the  room. 

"Yes.  Morris  Best  hired  us  to  work  in  his 
place  at  Dawson." 

"I  remember  your  outfit  at  Sheep  Camp. 
Best  was  nearly  crazy — " 

"He's  crazier  now  than  ever."  Laure  smiled 
for  the  first  time  and  her  face  lit  up  with  mis- 
chief. "Poor  Morris!  We  lead  him  around  by 
his  big  nose.  He's  deathly  afraid  he'll  lose  us, 
and  we  know  it,  so  we  make  his  life  miserable." 

231 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

She  turned  serious  abruptly,  and  with  a  candor 
quite  startling  said,  "I  like  you." 

"Indeed!"     Pierce  was  nonplussed. 

The  girl  nodded.  "You  looked  good  to  me 
when  you  came  in.  Are  you  going  to  Dawson?" 

"Of  course.     Everybody  is  going  to  Dawson." 

"I  suppose  you  have  partners?" 

"No!"  Pierce's  face  darkened.  "I'm  alone— 
very  much  alone."  He  undertook  to  speak  in  a 
hollow,  hopeless  tone. 

"Big  outfit?" 

"None  at  all.  But  I  have  enough  money  for 
my  needs  and — I'll  probably  hook  up  with  some- 
body." Now  there  was  a  brave  but  cheerless 
resignation  in  his  words. 

Laure  pondered  for  a  moment;  even  more 
carefully  than  before  she  studied  her  companion. 
That  the  result  satisfied  her  she  made  plain  by 
saying: 

"Morris  wants  men.  I  can  get  him  to  hire 
you.  Would  you  like  to  hook  up  with  us?" 

"I  don't  know.  It  doesn't  much  matter.  Will 
you  have  something  to  drink  now?" 

"Why  should  I?  They  don't  give  any  per- 
centage here.  Wait!  I'll  see  Morris  and  tell 
you  what  he  says."  Leaving  Pierce,  the  speaker 
hurried  to  a  harassed  little  man  of  Hebraic  coun- 
tenance who  was  engaged  in  the  difficult  task  of 
chaperoning  this  unruly  aggregation  of  talent. 
To  him  she  said : 

"I've  found  a  man  for  you,  Morris." 

"Man?" 

232 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"To  go  to  Dawson  with  us.  That  tall,  good- 
looking  fellow  at  the  bar." 

Mr.  Best  was  bewildered.  "What  ails  you?" 
he  queried.  "I  don't  want  any  men,  and  you 
know  it." 

"You  want  this  fellow,  and  you're  going  to 
hire  him." 

"Am  I?    What  makes  you  think  so?" 

"Because  it's — him  or  me,"  Laure  said,  calmly. 

Mr.  Best  was  both  surprised  and  angered  at 
this  cool  announcement.  "You  mean,  I  s'pose, 
that  you'll  quit,"  he  said,  belligerently. 

"I  mean  that  very  thing.  The  man  has 
money — " 

Best's  anger  disappeared  as  if  by  magic;  his 
tone  became  apologetic.  "Oh!  Why  didn't  you 
say  so?  If  he'll  pay  enough,  and  if  you  want 
him,  why,  of  course — 

Laure  interrupted  with  an  unexpected  dash  of 
temper.  "He  isn't  going  to  pay  you  anything: 
you're  going  to  pay  him — top  wages,  too.  Under- 
stand?" 

The  unhappy  recipient  of  this  ultimatum  raised 
his  hands  hi  a  gesture  of  despair.  "Himmel! 
There's  no  understanding  you  girls!  There's  no 
getting  along  with  you,  either.  What's  on  your 
mind,  eh?  Are  you  after  him  or  his  coin?" 

' '  I — don' t  know. ' '  Laure  was  gazing  at  Phillips 
with  a  peculiar  expression.  "I'm  not  sure.  May- 
be I'm  after  both.  Will  you  be  good  and  hire  him, 
or—" 

"Oh,  you've  got  me!"  Best  declared,  with  frank 

233 


resentment.  "If  you  want  him,  I  s'pose  I'll  have 
to  get  him  for  you,  but" — he  muttered  an  oath 
under  his  breath — "you'll  ruin  me.  Oy!  Oy! 
I'll  be  glad  when  you're  all  in  Dawson  and  at 
work." 

After  some  further  talk  the  manager  approached 
Phillips  and  made  himself  known.  "Laure  tells 
me  you  want  to  join  our  troupe,"  he  began. 

"I'll  see  that  he  pays  you  well,"  the  girl  urged. 
"Come  on." 

Phillips'  thoughts  were  not  quite  clear,  but, 
even  so,  the  situation  struck  him  as  grotesquely 
amusing.  "I'm  no  song-and-dance  man,"  he 
said,  with  a  smile.  "What  would  you  expect  me 
to  do?  Play  a  mandolin?" 

"I  don't  know  exactly,"  Best  replied.  "May- 
be you  could  help  me  ride  herd  on  these  Bern- 
hardts."  He  ran  a  hand  through  his  thin  black 
hair,  thinner  now  by  half  than  when  he  left  the 
States.  "If  you  could  do  that,  why — you  could 
save  my  reason." 

"He  wants  you  to  be  a  Simon  Legree,"  Laure 
explained. 

The  manager  seconded  this  statement  by  a 
nod  of  his  head.  "Sure!  Crack  the  whip  over 
'em.  Keep  'em  in  line.  Don't  let  'em  get  mar- 
ried. I  thought  I  was  wise  to  hire  good-lookers, 
but — I  was  crazy.  They  smile  and  they  make 
eyes  and  the  men  fight  for  'em.  They  steal  'em 
away.  I've  had  a  dozen  battles  and  every  time 
I've  been  licked.  Already  four  of  my  girls  are 
gone.  If  I  lose  four  more  I  can't  open;  I'll  be 

234 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

ruined.  Oy!  Such  a  country!  Every  day  a  new 
love-affair;  every  day  more  trouble — " 

Laure  threw  back  her  dark  head  and  laughed 
in  mischievous  delight.  "It's  a  fact,"  she  told 
Pierce.  "The  best  Best  gets  is  the  worst  of  it. 
He's  not  our  manager,  he's  our  slave;  we  have 
lots  of  fun  with  him."  Stepping  closer  to  the 
young  man,  she  slipped  her  arm  within  his  and, 
looking  up  into  his  face,  said,  in  a  low  voice:  "I 
knew  I  could  fix  it,  for  I  always  have  my  way. 
Will  you  go?"  Wlien  he  hesitated  she  repeated: 
"Will  you  go  with  me  or — shall  I  go  with  you?" 

Phillips  started.  His  brain  was  fogged  and  he 
had  difficulty  in  focusing  his  gaze  upon  the  eager, 
upturned  face  of  the  girl;  nevertheless,  he  appre- 
ciated the  significance  of  this  audacious  inquiry 
and  there  came  to  him  the  memory  of  his  recent 
conversation  with  the  Countess  Courteau.  "Why 
do  you  say  that?"  he  queried,  after  a  moment. 
"Why  do  you  want  me  to  go?" 

Laure's  eyes  searched  his;  there  was  an  odd 
light  in  them,  and  a  peculiar  intensity  which  he 
dimly  felt  but  scarcely  understood.  "I  don't 
know,"  she  confessed.  She  was  no  longer  smiling, 
and,  although  her  gaze  remained  hypnotically 
fixed  upon  his,  she  seemed  to  be  searching  her  own 
soul.  "I  don't  know,"  she  said  again,  "but  you. 
have  a — call." 

In  spite  of  this  young  woman's  charms,  and 
they  were  numerous  enough,  Phillips  was  not 
strongly  drawn  to  her;  resentment,  anger,  his 
rankling  sense  of  hi  jury,  all  these  left  no  room  for 

16  235 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

other  emotions.  That  she  was  interested  hi  him 
he  still  had  sense  enough  to  perceive;  her  amazing 
proposal,  her  unmistakable  air  of  proprietorship, 
showed  that  much,  and  in  consequence  a  sort  of 
malicious  triumph  arose  within  him.  Here,  right 
at  hand,  was  an  agency  of  forgetfulness,  more 
potent  by  far  than  the  one  to  which  he  had  first 
turned.  Dangerous?  Yes.  But  his  life  was 
ruined.  What  difference,  then,  whether  oblivion 
came  from  alcohol  or  from  the  drug  of  the 
poppy?  Deliberately  he  shut  his  ears  to  inner 
warnings;  he  raised  his  head  defiantly. 

"I'll  go,"  said  he. 

"We  leave  at  daylight,"  Best  told  him. 


WITH  Toleon  Doret  to  be  busy  was  to  be 
contented,  and  these  were  busy  times  for 
him.  His  daily  routine,  with  trap  and  gun,  had 
made  of  him  an  early  riser  and  had  bred  in  him  a 
habit  of  greeting  the  sun  with  a  song.  It  was  no 
hardship  for  him,  therefore,  to  cook  his  breakfast 
by  candle-light,  especially  now  that  the  days  were 
growing  short.  On  the  morning  after  his  rescue 
of  Sam  Kirby  and  his  daughter  Toleon  washed 
his  dishes  and  cut  his  wood;  then,  finding  that 
there  was  still  an  hour  to  spare  before  the  light 
would  be  sufficient  to  run  Miles  Canon,  he  lit 
his  pipe  and  strolled  up  to  the  village.  The  ground 
was  now  white,  for  considerable  snow  had  fallen 
during  the  night ;  the  day  promised  to  be  extremely 
short  and  uncomfortable.  Toleon,  however,  was 
impervious  to  weather  of  any  sort;  his  good 
humor  was  not  dampened  hi  the  least. 

Even  at  this  hour  the  saloons  were  well  patro- 
nized, for  not  only  was  the  camp  astir,  but  also  the 
usual  stale  crowd  of  all-night  loiterers  was  not  yet 
sufficiently  intoxicated  to  go  to  bed.  As  Toleon 
neared  the  first  resort,  the  door  opened  and  a 

woman   emerged.     She   was   silhouetted   briefly 

237 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

against  the  illumination  from  within,  and  the 
pilot  was  surprised  to  recognize  her  as  Rouletta 
Kirby.  He  was  upon  the  point  of  speaking  to  her 
when  she  collided  blindly  with  a  man  who  had 
preceded  him  by  a  step  or  twro. 

The  fellow  held  the  girl  for  an  instant  and 
helped  her  to  regain  her  equilibrium,  exclaiming, 
with  a  laugh:  "Say!  What's  the  matter  with  you, 
sister?  Can't  you  see  where  you're  going?"  When 
Rouletta  made  no  response  the  man  continued  in 
an  even  friendlier  tone,  "Well,  I  can  see;  my  eye- 
sight's good,  and  it  tells  me  you're  about  the  best- 
looking  dame  I've  run  into  to-night."  Still  laugh- 
ing, he  bent  his  head  as  if  to  catch  the  girl's 
answer.  "Eh?  I  don't  get  you.  Who  d'you  say 
you're  looking  for?" 

'Poleon  was  frankly  puzzled.  He  resented  this 
man's  tone  of  easy  familiarity  and,  about  to  inter- 
fere, he  was  restrained  by  Rouletta' s  apparent 
indifference.  What  ailed  the  girl?  It  was  too  dark 
to  make  out  her  face,  but  her  voice,  oddly  changed 
and  unnatural,  gave  him  cause  for  wonderment. 
Could  it  be — 'Poleon's  half-formed  question  was 
answered  by  the  stranger  who  cried,  in  mock  re- 
proach: "Naughty!  Naughty!  You've  had  a 
little  too  much,  that's  what's  the  matter  with  you. 
Why,  you  need  a  guardeen."  Taking  Rouletta  by 
the  shoulders,  the  speaker  turned  her  about  so 
that  the  dim  half-light  that  filtered  through  the 
canvas  wall  of  the  tent  saloon  shone  full  upon  her 
face. 

'Poleon  saw  now  that  the  girl  was  indeed  not 

238 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

herself;  there  was  a  childish,  vacuous  expression 
upon  her  face;  she  appeared  to  be  dazed  and  to 
comprehend  little  of  what  the  man  was  saying. 
This  was  proved  by  her  blank  acceptance  of  his 
next  insinuating  words:  "Say,  it's  lucky  I  stumbled 
on  to  you.  I  been  up  all  night  and  so  have  you. 
S'pose  we  get  better  acquainted.  What?" 

Rouletta  offered  no  objection  to  this  proposal; 
the  fellow  slipped  an  arm  about  her  and  led  her 
away,  meanwhile  pouring  a  confidential  murmur 
into  her  ear.  They  had  proceeded  but  a  few  steps 
when  Toleon  Doret  strode  out  of  the  gloom  and 
laid  a  heavy  hand  upon  the  man. 

"My  frien',"  he  demanded,  brusquely,  "w'ere 
you  takin'  dis  lady?" 

"Eh?"  The  fellow  wheeled  sharply.  "What's 
the  idea?  What  is  she  to  you?" 

"She  ain't  not'in'  to  me.  But  I  seen  you  plenty 
tarns  an' — you  ain't  no  good." 

Rouletta  spoke  intelligibly  for  the  first  time: 
"I've  no  place  to  go — no  place  to  sleep.  I'm  very 
—tired." 

"There  you've  got  it,"  the  girl's  self-appointed 
protector  grinned.  "Well,  I  happen  to  have  room 
for  her  in  my  tent."  As  Doret's  fingers  sank 
deeper  into  his  flesh  the  man's  anger  rose;  he 
undertook  to  shake  off  the  unwelcome  grasp.  "You 
leggo!  You  mind  your  own  business — " 

"Dis  goin'  be  my  biznesse,"  'Poleon  announced. 
"Dere's  somet'ing  fonny  'bout  dis— 

"  Don't  get  funny  with  me.  I  got  as  much  right 
to  her  as  you  have — " 

239 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

'Poleon  jerked  the  man  off  his  feet,  then  flung 
him  aside  as  if  he  were  unclean.  His  voice  was 
hoarse  with  disgust  when  he  cried: 

"Get  out!  Beat  it!  By  Gar!  You  ain't  fit  for 
touch  decent  gal.  You  spik  wit'  her  again,  I  tear 
you  in  two  piece!" 

Turning  to  Rouletta  he  said,  "Mam'selle,  you 
lookin'  for  your  papa,  eh?" 

Miss  Kirby  was  clasping  and  unclasping  her 
fingers,  her  face  was  strained,  her  response  came 
in  a  mutter  so  low  that  'Poleon  barely  caught  it: 

"Danny's  gone — gone —  Dad,  he's —  No  use 
fighting  it —  It's  the  drink — and  there's  nothing 
I  can  do." 

It  was  'Poleon's  turn  to  take  the  girl  by  the 
shoulders  and  wheel  her  about  for  a  better  look  at 
her  face.  A  moment  later  he  led  her  back  into  the 
saloon.  She  was  so  oddly  obedient,  so  docile,  so 
unquestioning,  that  he  realized  something  was 
greatly  amiss.  He  laid  his  hand  against  her  flushed 
cheek  and  found  it  to  be  burning  hot,  whereupon 
he  hastily  consulted  the  nearest  bystanders.  They 
agreed  with  him  that  the  girl  was  indeed  ill — more 
than  that,  she  was  half  delirious. 

"Sacre!  Wat's  she  doin'  roun'  a  saloon  lak  dis?" 
he  indignantly  demanded.  "How  come  she's 
gettin'  up  biffore  daylight,  eh?" 

It  was  the  bartender  who  made  plain  the  facts : 
"She  'ain't  been  to  bed  at  all,  Frenchy.  She's  been 
up  all  night,  ridin'  herd  on  old  Sam  Kirby.  He's 
drinkin',  understand?  He  tried  to  get  some  place 
for  her  to  stay,  along  about  midnight,  but  there 

240 


wasn't  any.  She's  been  setthV  there  alongside  of 
the  stove  for  the  last  few  hours  and  I  been  sort  of 
keepin'  an  eye  on  her  for  Sam's  sake." 

Doret  breathed  an  oath.  ' '  Dat's  nice  fader  she's 
got!  I  wish  I  let  'im  drown." 

"  Oh,  he  ain't  exactly  to  blame.  He's  on  a  bender 
— like  to  of  killed  a  feller  in  here.  Somebody'd 
ought  to  take  care  of  this  girl  till  he  sobers  up." 

During  this  conference  Rouletta  stood  quiver- 
ing, her  face  a  blank,  completely  indifferent  to  her 
surroundings.  Toleon  made  her  sit  down,  and  but 
for  her  ceaseless  whispering  she  might  have  been 
in  a  trance. 

Doret 's  indignation  mounted  as  the  situation 
became  plain  to  him. 

"Fine  t'ing!"  he  angrily  declared.  "Wat  for 
you  fellers  leave  dis  seeck  gal  settin'  up,  eh?  Me, 
I  come  jus'  in  tarn  for  catch  a  loafer  makin'  off 
wit'  her."  Again  he  swore  savagely.  "Dere's 
some  feller  ain't  wort'  killin'.  Wai,  I  got  good 
warm  camp;  I  tak'  her  dere,  den  I  fin'  dis  fader." 

"Sam  won't  be  no  good  to  you.  What  she  needs 
is  a  doctor,  and  she  needs  him  quick,"  the  bar- 
tender averred. 

"Eh  Men!  I  fin' him,  too!  Mam'selle"— Toleon 
turned  to  the  girl — "you're  bad  seeck,  dat's  fac'. 
You  care  for  stop  in  my  tent?"  The  girl  stared  up 
at  him  blankly,  uncomprehendingly;  then,  drawn 
doubtless  by  the  genuine  concern  in  his  troubled 
gaze,  she  raised  her  hand  and  placed  it  in  his.  She 
left  it  there,  the  small  fingers  curling  about  his 
big  thumb  like  those  of  a  child.  "Poor  li'l  bird!" 

241 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

The  woodsman's  brow  puckered,  a  moisture  gath- 
ered in  his  eyes.  "Dis  is  hell,  for  sure.  Come, 
den,  ma  petite,  I  fin'  a  nes'  for  you."  He  raised 
her  to  her  feet;  then,  removing  his  heavy  woolen 
coat,  he  placed  it  about  her  frail  shoulders.  When 
she  was  snugly  buttoned  inside  of  it  he  led  her 
out  into  the  com  gray  dawn;  she  went  with  him 
obediently. 

As  they  breasted  the  swirling  snowflakes  Doret 
told  himself  that,  pending  Sam  Kirby's  return  to 
sanity,  this  sick  girl  needed  a  woman's  care  quite 
as  much  as  a  doctor's;  naturally  his  thoughts 
turned  to  the  Countess  Courteau.  Of  all  the 
women  in  White  Horse,  the  Countess  alone  was 
qualified  to  assume  charge  of  an  innocent  child 
like  this,  and  he  determined  to  call  upon  her  as 
soon  as  he  had  summoned  medical  assistance. 

WTien,  without  protest,  Rouletta  followed  him 
into  his  snug  living-quarters,  Doret  thought  again 
of  the  ruffian  from  whom  he  had  rescued  her  and 
again  he  breathed  a  malediction.  The  more  fully 
he  became  aware  of  the  girl's  utter  helplessness  the 
angrier  he  grew,  and  the  more  criminal  appeared 
her  father's  conduct.  White  Horse  made  no  pre- 
tense at  morality;  it  was  but  a  relay  station,  a 
breathing-point  where  the  mad  rush  to  the  Klon- 
dike paused;  there  was  neither  law  nor  order  here; 
the  women  who  passed  through  were,  for  the 
most  part,  shameless  creatures;  the  majority  of 
the  men  were  unruly,  unresponsive  to  anything 
except  an  appeal  to  their  animal  appetites.  Sym- 
pathy, consideration,  chivalry  had  all  but  vanished 

242 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

in  the  heat  of  the  great  stampede.  That  Sam 
Kirby  should  have  abandoned  his  daughter  to  such 
as  these  was  incredible,  criminal.  Mere  intoxica~ 
tion  did  not  excuse  it,  and  'Poleon  vowed  he  would 
give  the  old  man  a  piece  of  his  mind  at  the  first 
opportunity. 

His  tent  was  still  warm;  a  few  sticks  of  dry 
spruce  caused  the  little  stove  to  grow  red;  he 
helped  Rouletta  to  lie  down  upon  Ms  bed,  then  he 
drew  his  blankets  over  her. 

"You  stay  here  li'l  while,  eh?"  He  rested  a 
comforting  hand  upon  her  shoulder.  "'Poleon 
goin'  find  your  papa  now.  Bimeby  you  goin'  feel 
better." 

He  was  not  sure  that  she  understood  him,  for 
she  continued  to  mutter  under  her  breath  and  be- 
gan to  roll  her  head  as  if  in  pain.  Then  he  sum- 
moned all  the  persuasiveness  he  could.  "Dere 
now,  you're  safe  in  Toleon's  house;  he  mak'  you 
well  dam'  queeck." 

A  good  many  people  were  stirring  when  the 
pilot  climbed  once  more  to  the  stumpy  clearing 
where  the  village  stood,  and  whomsoever  he  met 
he  questioned  regarding  Sam  Kirby;  it  did  not 
take  him  long  to  discover  the  latter' s  whereabouts. 
But  '  Poleon' s  delay,  brief  as  it  had  been,  bore 
tragic  consequences.  Had  he  been  a  moment  or 
two  earlier  he  might  have  averted  a  catastrophe 
of  far-reaching  effect,  one  that  had  a  bearing  upon 
many  lives. 

The  Gold  Belt  Saloon  had  enjoyed  a  profitable 
all-night  patronage;  less  than  an  hour  previously 

243 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Morris  Best  had  rounded  up  the  last  of  his  gay 
song-birds  and  put  an  end  to  their  carnival.  The 
poker  game,  however,  was  still  in  progress  at  the 
big  round  table.  Already  numerous  early  risers 
were  hurrying  in  to  fortify  themselves  against  the 
raw  day  just  breaking,  and  among  these  last- 
named,  by  some  evil  whim  of  fate,  chanced  to  be 
the  man  for  whom  Sam  Kirby  had  so  patiently 
waited.  The  fellow  had  not  come  seeking  trouble 
— no  one  who  knew  the  one-armed  gambler's  repu- 
tation sought  trouble  with  him — but,  learning  that 
Kirby  was  still  awake  and  in  a  dangerous  mood,  he 
had  entered  the  Gold  Belt  determined  to  protect 
himself  in  case  of  eventualities. 

Doret  was  but  a  few  seconds  behind  the  man, 
but  those  few  seconds  were  fateful.  As  the  pilot 
stepped  into  the  saloon  he  beheld  a  sight  that  was 
enough  to  freeze  him  motionless.  The  big  kero- 
sene lamps,  swung  from  the  rafter  braces  above, 
shed  over  the  interior  a  peculiar  sickly  radiance, 
yellowed  now  by  reason  of  the  pale  morning  light 
outside.  Beneath  one  of  the  lamps  a  tableau  was 
set.  Sam  Kirby  and  the  man  he  had  struck  the 
night  before  were  facing  each  other  in  the  center  of 
the  room,  and  Doret  heard  the  gambler  cry: 

"I've  been  laying  for  you!" 

Kirby's  usually  impassive  face  was  a  sight;  it 
was  fearfully  contorted;  it  was  the  countenance 
of  a  maniac.  His  words  were  loud  and  uncannily 
distinct,  and  the  sound  of  them  had  brought  a 
breathless  hush  over  the  place.  At  the  moment 
of  Doret's  entrance  the  occupants  of  the  saloon 

244 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

seemed  petrified;  they  stood  rooted  in  their  tracks 
as  if  the  anger  in  that  menacing  voice  had  halted 
them  in  mid-action.  Toleon,  too,  turned  cold,  for 
it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  opened  the  door 
upon  a  roomful  of  wax  figures  posed  in  theatric 
postures.  Then  in  the  flash  of  an  eye  the  scene 
dissolved  into  action,  swift  and  terrifying. 

What  happened  was  so  unexpected,  it  came 
with  such  a  lack  of  warning,  that  few  of  the  wit- 
nesses, even  though  they  beheld  every  move,  were 
able  later  to  agree  fully  upon  details.  WTiether 
Kirby  actually  fired  the  first  shot,  or  whether  his 
attempt  to  do  so  spurred  his  antagonist  to  lightning 
quickness,  was  long  a  matter  of  dispute.  In  a 
flash  the  room  became  a  place  of  deafening  echoes. 
Shouts  of  protest,  yells  of  fright,  the  crash  of 
overturning  furniture,  the  stamp  of  ^fleeing  feet 
mingled  with  the  loud  explosion  of  gunshots — 
pandemonium. 

Fortunately  the  troupe  of  women  who  had  been 
here  earlier  were  gone  and  the  tent  was  by  no 
means  crowded.  Even  so,  there  were  enough  men 
present  to  raise  a  mighty  turmoil.  Some  of  them 
took  shelter  behind  the  bar,  others  behind  the 
stove  and  the  tables;  some  bolted  headlong  for 
the  door;  still  others  hurled  themselves  bodily 
against  the  canvas  walls  and  ripped  their  way 
out. 

The  duel  was  over  almost  as  quickly  as  it  had 
begun.  Sam  Kirby 's  opponent  reeled  backward 
and  fetched  up  against  the  bar;  above  the  din 
his  hoarse  voice  rose: 

245 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"He  started  it!  You  saw  him!  Tried  to  kill 
me!" 

He  waved  a  smoking  pistol-barrel  at  the  gam- 
bler, who  had  sunk  to  his  knees.  Even  while  he 
was  shouting  out  his  plea  for  justification  Kirby 
slid  forward  upon  his  face  and  the  fingers  of  his 
outstretched  hand  slowly  unloosed  themselves 
from  his  gim. 

It  had  been  a  shocking,  a  sickening  affair;  the 
effect  of  it  had  been  intensified  by  reason  of  its 
unexpectedness,  and  now,  although  it  was  over, 
excitement  gathered  fury.  Men  burst  forth  from 
their  places  of  concealment  and  made  for  the  open 
air;  the  structure  vomited  its  occupants  out  into 
the  snow. 

'Poleon  Doret  had  been  swept  aside,  then  borne 
backward  ahead  of  that  stampede,  and  at  length 
found  himself  wedged  into  a  corner.  He  heard  the 
victor  repeating:  "You  saw  him.  Tried  to  kill 
me!"  The  speaker  turned  a  blanched  face  and 
glaring  eyes  upon  those  witnesses  who  still  re- 
mained. "He's  Sam  Kirby.  I  had  to  get  him  or 
he'd  have  got  me."  He  pressed  a  hand  to  his 
side,  then  raised  it;  it  was  smeared  with  blood. 
In  blank  stupefaction  the  man  stared  at  this 
phenomenon. 

Doret  was  the  first  to  reach  that  motionless 
figure  sprawled  face  down  upon  the  floor;  it  was 
he  who  lifted  the  gray  head  and  spoke  Kirby 's 
name.  A  swift  examination  was  enough  to  make 
quite  sure  that  the  old  man  was  beyond  all  help. 
Outside,  curiosity  had  done  its  work  and  the  hu- 

246 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

man  tide  was  setting  back  into  the  wrecked  saloon. 
When  Toleon  rose  with  the  body  hi  his  arms  he 
was  surrounded  by  a  clamorous  crowd.  Through 
it  he  bore  the  limp  figure  to  the  cloth-covered  card- 
table,  and  there,  among  the  scattered  emblems 
of  Sam  Kirby's  calling,  Toleon  deposited  his  bur- 
den. By  those  cards  and  those  celluloid  disks  the 
old  gambler  had  made  his  living;  grim  fitness  was 
in  the  fact  that  they  should  carpet  his  bier. 

WTien  Toleon  Doret  had  forced  his  way  by  main 
strength  out  of  the  Gold  Belt  Saloon,  he  removed 
his  cap  and,  turning  his  face  to  the  wind,  he 
breathed  deeply  of  the  cool,  clean  air.  His  brow 
was  moist;  he  let  the  snowflakes  fall  upon  it  the 
while  he  shut  his  eyes  and  strove  to  think.  En- 
gaged thus,  he  heard  Lucky  Broad  address  him. 

With  the  speaker  was  Kid  Bridges;  that  they 
had  come  thither  on  the  run  was  plain,  for  they 
were  panting. 

"What's  this  about  Kirby?"  Lucky  gasped. 

"We  heard  he's  just  been  croaked!"  the  Kid 
exclaimed. 

Toleon  nodded.  "I  seen  it  all.  He  had  it 
comin'  to  him,"  and  with  a  gesture  he  seemed  to 
brush  a  hideous  picture  from  before  his  eyes. 

"Old  Sam!  Dead!" 

Broad,  it  seemed,  was  incredulous.  He  under- 
took to  bore  his  way  into  the  crowd  that  was 
pressing  through  the  saloon  door,  but  Doret  seized 
him. 

"Wait!"  cried  the  latter.  "Dat  ain't  all;  dat 
ain't  de  worst." 

247 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Say!  Where's  Letty?"  Bridges  inquired. 
"\Vas  she  with  him  when  it  happened?  Does  she 
know — " 

"Dat's  w'at  I'm  goin'  tell  you."  In  a  few  words 
'Poleon  made  known  the  girl's  condition,  how  he 
had  happened  to  encounter  her,  and  how  he  had 
been  looking  for  her  father  when  the  tragedy 
occurred.  His  listeners  showed  then*  amazement 
and  their  concern. 

"Gosh!  That's  tough!"  It  was  Broad  speaking. 
"Me  'n'  the  Kid  had  struck  camp  and  was  on  our 
way  down  to  fix  up  our  boat  when  we  heard  about 
the  killin'.  We  couldn't  believe  it,  for  Sam — " 

"Seems  like  it  was  a  waste  of  effort  to  save  that 
outfit,"  Bridges  broke  in.  "Sam  dead  and  Letty 
dyin' — all  hi  this  length  of  time!  She's  a  good  kid; 
she's  goin'  to  feel  awful.  Who's  goin'  to  break  the 
news  to  her?" 

"I  don'  know."  'Poleon  frowned  in  deep  per- 
plexity. "Dere's  doctor  in  dere  now,"  he  nodded 
toward  the  Gold  Belt.  "I'm  goin'  tak'  him  to  her, 
but  she  mus'  have  woman  for  tak'  care  of  her. 
Mebbe  Madame  la  Comtesse — " 

"Why,  the  Countess  is  gone!  She  left  at  day- 
light. Me  V  the  Kid  are  to  follow  as  soon  as  we 
get  our  skiff  fixed." 

"Gone?" 

"Sure!" 

"Sacre!  De  one  decent  woman  in  dis  place. 
Wai!"  'Poleon  shrugged.  "Dose  dance-hall  gal' 
is  got  good  heart — ' 

"Hell!     They  pulled  out  ahead  of  our  gang. 

248 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Best  ran  his  boats  through  the  White  Horse  late 
yesterday  and  he  was  off  before  it  was  light.  I 
know,  because  Phillips  told  me.  He's  joined  out 
with  'em — blew  in  early  and  got  his  war-bag.  He 
left  the  Countess  flat." 

Doret  was  dumfounded  at  this  news  and  he 
showed  his  dismay. 

"But — dere's  no  more  women  here!"  he  stam- 
mered. "Dat  young  lady  she's  seeck;  she  mus' 
be  nurse'.  By  Gar!  Who's  goin'  do  it,  eh?" 

The  three  of  them  were  anxiously  discussing  the 
matter  when  they  were  joined  by  the  doctor  to 
whom  'Poleon  had  referred.  "I've  done  all  there 
is  to  do  here,"  the  physician  announced.  "Now 
about  Kirby's  daughter.  You  say  she's  delirious?" 
The  pilot  nodded.  He  told  of  Rouletta's  drench- 
ing on  the  afternoon  previous  and  of  the  state  in 
which  he  had  just  found  her.  "Jove!  Pneumonia, 
most  likely.  It  sounds  serious,  and  I'm  afraid  I 
can't  do  much.  You  see  I'm  all  ready  to  go,  but — 
of  course  I'll  do  what  I  can." 

"Who's  goin'  nurse  her?"  'Poleon  demanded 
for  a  second  tune.  "Dere  ain't  no  women  in  dis 
place." 

The  physician  shook  his  head.  "Who  indeed? 
It's  a  wretched  situation!  If  she's  as  ill  as  you  seem 
to  think,  why,  we'll  have  to  do  the  best  we  can, 
I  suppose.  She  probably  won't  last  long.  Come!" 
Together  he  and  the  French  Canadian  hurried 
away. 


CHAPTER  XV 

IT  was  afternoon  when  Lucky  Broad  and  Kid 
Bridges  came  to  'Poleon  Doret's  tent  and 
called  its  owner  outside. 

"We're  hitched  up  and  ready  to  say  'gid-dap,' 
but  we  came  back  to.  see  how  Letty's  getting 
along,"  the  former  explained. 

'Poleon  shook  his  head  doubtfully;  his  face  was 
grave.  "  She's  bad  seeck." 

"Does  she  know  about  old  Sam?" 

"  She  ain't  know  not'in'.  She's  crazee  altogether. 
Poor  li'l  gal,  she's  jus'  lak  baby.  I'm  scare'  as 
hell." 

The  confidence-men  stared  at  each  other  silently; 
then  they  stared  at  Doret.  "What  we  goin'  to  do 
about  it?"  the  Kid  inquired,  finally. 

'Poleon  was  at  a  loss  for  an  answer;  he  made  no 
secret  of  his  anxiety.  "De  doctor  say  she  mus' 
stay  right  here — " 

"Here?" 

"He  say  if  she  get  cold  once  more — pouf!  She 
die  lak  dat!  Plenty  fire,  plenty  blanket,  medicine 
every  hour,  dat's  all.  I'm  prayin'  for  come  along 
some  woman — any  kin'  of  woman  at  all — I  don' 
care  if  she's  squaw." 

250 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"There  ain't  any  skirts  back  of  us.  Best's  out- 
fit  was  the  last  to  leave  Linderman.  There  won't 
be  any  more  till  after  the  freeze-up." 

"  Eh  bien!  Den  I  s'pose  I  do  de  bes'  I  can. 
She's  poor  seeck  gal  in  beeg,  cold  countree  wit' 
no  frien's,  no  money — " 

"No  money?"  Broad  was  ctartled.  "Why, 
Sam  was  '  f  at ' !  He  had  a  bank-roll —  " 

"He  lose  five  t'ousan'  dollar'  playin'  card  las' 
night.  Less  'n  eighty  dollar'  dey  lef '  him.  Eighty 
dollar'  an' — dis."  From  the  pocket  of  his  macki- 
naw  'Poleon  drew  Kirby's  revolver,  that  famous 
single-action  six-shooter,  the  elaborate  ivory  grip 
of  which  was  notched  in  several  places.  Broad  and 
his  partner  eyed  the  weapon  with  intense  interest. 

"That's  Agnes,  all  right!"  the  former  declared. 
"And  that's  where  old  Sam  kept  his  books."  He 
ran  his  thumb-nail  over  the  significant  file-marks 
on  the  handle.  "Looks  like  an  alligator  had  bit  it." 

Bridges  was  even  more  deeply  impressed  by  the 
announcement  of  Kirby's  losses  than  was  his  part- 
ner. "Sam  must  of  been  easy  pickin',  drunk  like 
that.  He  was  a  gamblin'  fool  when  he  was  right, 
but  I  s'pose  he  couldn't  think  of  nothin'  except 
fresh  meat  for  Agnes.  Letty  had  him  tagged 
proper,  and  I  bet  she'd  of  saved  him  if  she  hadn't 
of  gone  off  her  nut.  D'you  think  she's  got  a 
chance?" 

"For  get  well?"  'Poleon  shrugged  his  wide 
shoulders.  "De  doctor  say  it's  goin'  be  hard  pull. 
He's  goin'  stay  so  long  he  can,  den — wal,  mebbe 
'noder  doctor  come  along.  I  hope  so." 

1.7  251 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"If  she  does  win  out,  then  what?"  Broad  in- 
quired. 

'Poleon  considered  the  question.  "I  s'pose  I  tak' 
her  back  to  Dyea  an'  send  her  home.  I  got  some 


Lucky  studied  the  speaker  curiously;  there  was 
a  peculiar  hostile  gleam  in  his  small,  colorless  eyes. 
"Medicine  every  hour,  and  a  steady  fire,  you  say. 
You  don't  figger  to  get  much  sleep,  do  you?" 

"Non.  No.  But  me,  I'm  strong  feller;  I  can 
sleep  hangin'  up  by  de  ear  if  I  got  to." 

"What's  the  big  idea?" 

"Eh?"  Doret  was  frankly  puzzled.  "Wat 
you  mean,  'beeg  idea'?" 

"What  d'you  expect  to  get  out  of  all  this?" 

"M'sieu'!"  The  French  Canadian's  face  flushed, 
he  raised  his  head  and  met  the  gaze  of  the  two 
men.  There  was  an  air  of  dignity  about  him  as 
he  said:  "Dere's  plenty  t'ing  in  dis  worl'  we  don' 
get  pay'  for.  You  didn't  'spect  no  pay  yesterday 
when  you  run  de  W'ite  'Orse  for  save  dis  gal  an' 
her  papa,  did  you?  No.  Wai,  I'm  woodsman, 
river-man;  I  ain't  dam'  stampeder.  Dis  is  my 
countree,  we're  Men's  together  long  tarn;  I  love 
it  an'  it  loves  me.  I  love  de  birds  and  hanimals, 
an'  dey're  frien's  wit'  me  also.  'Bout  spring-tarn, 
w'en  de  grub  she's  short,  de  Canada  jays  dey  come 
to  visit  me,  an'  I  feed  dem;  sometam'  I  fin'  dere's 
groun-squirrel's  nest  onder  my  tent,  an'  mebbe 
mister  squirrel  creep  out  of  his  hole,  t'inkin'  sum- 
mer is  come.  Dat  feller  he's  hongrv;  he  steal  my 
food  an'  he  set  'longside  my  stove  for  eat  him. 

252 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

You  fink  I  hurt  dose  he'pless  li'l  t'ing?  You 
s'pose  I  mak'  dem  pay  for  w'at  dey  eat?" 

'Poleon  was  soaring  as  only  his  free  soul  could 
soar;  he  indicated  the  tent  at  his  back,  whence 
issued  the  sound  of  Rouletta  Kirby's  ceaseless 
murmurings. 

"Dis  gal — she's  tiny  snowbird  wit'  broken  wing. 
Bien!  I  fix  her  wing  de  bes'  I  can.  I  mak'  her  well 
an'  I  teach  her  to  fly  again.  Dat's  all."  Broad  and 
Bridges  had  listened  attentively,  their  faces  im- 
passive. Lucky  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"Letty's  a  good  girl,  y 'understand.  She's  dif- 
ferent to  these  others — " 

'Poleon  interrupted  with  a  gesture  of  impatience. 
"It  ain't  mak'  no  difference  if  she's  good  or  bad. 
She's  seeck." 

"Me  'n'  the  Kid  have  done  some  heavy  thinkin', 
an'  we'd  about  decided  to  get  a  high  stool  and 
take  turns  lookin'  out  Letty's  game,  just  to  see 
that  her  bets  went  as  they  laid,  but  I  got  a  hunch 
you're  a  square  guy.  What  d'you  think,  Kid?" 

Mr.  Bridges  nodded  his  head  slowly.  "I  got 
the  same  hunch.  The  point  is  this,"  he  explained. 
"We  can't  very  well  throw  the  Countess — we  got 
some  of  her  outfit — and,  anyhow,  we'd  be  about 
as  handy  around  an  invalid  as  a  coupla  cub  bears. 
I  think  we'll  bow  out.  But,  Frenchy" — the  gam- 
bler spoke  with  intense  earnestness — "if  ever  we 
hear  a  kick  from  that  gal  we'll — we'll  foller  you 
like  a  track.  Won't  we,  Lucky?" 

"We'll  foller  him  to  hell!"  Mr.  Broad  feelingly 
declared. 

253 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Gravely,  ceremoniously,  the  callers  shook  hands 
with  Doret,  then  they  returned  whence  they  had 
come.  They  went  their  way ;  Rouletta's  delirium 
continued;  Toleon's  problem  increased  daily; 
meanwhile,  however,  the  life  of  the  North  did  not 
.slacken  a  single  pulse-beat. 

Never  since  their  earliest  associations  had  Tom 
Linton  and  Jerry  Quirk  found  themselves  in  such 
absolute  accord,  in  such  complete  harmony  of 
understanding,  as  during  the  days  that  immedi- 
ately followed  their  reconciliation.  Each  man  un- 
dertook to  outdo  the  other  hi  politeness;  each 
man  forced  himself  to  be  considerate,  and  strove 
at  whatever  expense  to  himself  to  lighten  the 
other's  burdens;  all  of  their  relations  were  char- 
acterized by  an  elaborate,  an  almost  mid- Victorian 
courtesy.  A  friendly  rivalry  in  self-sacrifice 
existed  between  them;  they  quarreled  good- 
naturedly  over  the  dish-washing,  that  disgusting 
rite  which  tries  the  patience  of  every  grown  man ; 
when  there  was  wood  to  be  cut  they  battled  with 
each  other  for  the  ax. 

But  there  is  a  limit  to  politeness;  unfailing  sun- 
shine grows  tedious,  and  so  does  a  monotonous 
exercise  of  magnanimity. 

While  it  had  been  an  easy  matter  to  cut  their 
rowboat  in  two,  the  process  of  splicing  it  together 
again  had  required  patience  and  ingenuity,  and 
it  had  resulted  in  delay.  By  the  tune  they  ar- 
rived at  Miles  Canon,  therefore,  the  season  was 
far  advanced  and  both  men,  without  knowing 

254 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

it,  were  in  a  condition  of  mind  to  welcome  any 
sort  of  a  squall  that  would  serve  to  freshen  the 
unbearably  stagnant  atmosphere  of  amiability  in 
which  they  were  slowly  suffocating. 

Here  for  the  first  tune  the  results  of  their  quarrel 
arose  to  embarrass  them;  they  could  find  no  pilot 
who  would  risk  his  life  in  a  craft  so  badly  put 
together  as  theirs.  After  repeated  discouragements 
the  partners  took  counsel  with  each  other;  re-* 
luctantly  they  agreed  that  they  were  up  against  it. 

"  Seems  like  I've  about  ruined  us,"  Mr.  Quirk 
acknowledged,  ruefully. 

"You?  Why,  Jerry,  it  was  my  fault  we  cut  the 
old  ship  in  two,"  Mr.  Linton  declared. 

The  former  speaker  remonstrated,  gently. 
"Now,  Tom,  it's  just  like  you  to  take  the  blame, 
but  it  was  my  doin's;  I  instigated  that  fratricidal 
strife." 

Sweetly  but  firmly  Linton  differed  with  his 
partner.  "It  ain't  often  that  you're  wrong,  Jerry, 
old  boy — it  ain't  more  than  once  or  twice  in  a 
lifetime — but  you're  wrong  now.  I'm  the  guilty 
wretch  and  I'd  ought  to  hang  for  it.  My  rotten 
temper — " 

"Pshaw!  You  got  one  of  the  nicest  dispositions 
I  ever  see — in  a  man.  You're  sweeter  'n  a  persim- 
mon. I  pecked  at  you  till  your  core  was  exposed. 
I'm  a  thorn  in  the  flesh,  Tom,  and  folks  wouldn't 
criticize  you  none  for  doin'  away  with  me." 

"You're  'way  off.  I  climbed  you  with  my 
spurs — " 

"Now,  Tom!"     Sadly  Mr.  Quirk  wagged  his 

255 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

gray  head.  "I  don't  often  argue  with  anybody, 
especially  with  you,  but  the  damnable  idea  of 
diviclin'  our  spoils  originated  in  my  evil  mind  and 
I'm  goin'  to  pay  the  penalty.  I'll  ride  this  white- 
pine  outlaw  through  by  myself.  You  ear  him 
down  till  I  get  both  feet  in  the  stirrups,  then  turn 
him  a-loose;  I'll  finish  settin'  up  and  I  won't  pull 
leather." 

"How  you  talk!  Boats  ain't  like  horses;  it  '11 
take  a  good  oarsman  to  navigate  these  rapids — •" 

"Well?"  Quirk  looked  up  quickly.  "I'm  a 
good  oarsman."  There  was  a  momentary  pause. 
"Ain't  I?" 

Mr.  Linton  hastily  remedied  his  slip  of  the 
tongue.  "You're  a  bear!"  he  asserted,  with  feeling. 
"I  don't  know  as  I  ever  saw  a  better  boatman 
than  you,  for  your  weight  and  experience,  but— 
there's  a  few  things  about  boats  that  you  never 
had  the  chance  to  pick  up,  you  being  sort  of  a 
cactus  and  alkali  sailor.  For  instance,  when  you 
want  a  boat  to  go  'gee'  you  have  to  pull  on  the 
'off'  oar.  It's  plumb  opposite  to  the  way  you 
steer  a  horse." 

"Sure!  Didn't  I  figger  that  out  for  the  both  of 
us?  We  'most  had  a  runaway  till  I  doped 
it  out." 

Now  this  was  a  plain  perversion  of  fact,  for  it 
was  Tom  who  had  made  the  discovery.  Mr. 
Linton  was  about  to  so  state  the  matter  when  he 
reflected  that  doubtless  Jerry's  intentions  were 
honest  and  that  his  failing  memory  was  to  blame 
for  the  misstatement.  It  was  annoying  to  be 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

robbed  of  the  credit  for  an  important  discovery, 
of  course,  but  Tom  swallowed  his  resentment. 

"The  point  is  this,"  he  said,  with  a  resumption 
of  geniality.  "  You'd  get  all  wet  in  them  rapids, 
Jerry,  and — you  know  what  that  means.  I'd 
rather  take  a  chance  on  drowning  myself  than  to 
nurse  you  through  another  bad  cold." 

It  was  a  perfectly  sincere  speech — an  indirect 
expression  of  deep  concern  that  reflected  no  little 
credit  upon  the  speaker's  generosity.  Tom  was 
exasperated,  therefore,  when  Jerry,  by  some  char- 
acteristic process  of  crooked  reasoning,  managed 
to  misinterpret  it.  Plaintively  the  latter  said: 

"I  s'pose  I  am  a  handicap  to  you,  Tom.  You're 
mighty  consid'rate  of  my  feelin's,  not  to  throw 
it  up  to  me  any  oftener  than  you  do." 

"I  don't  throw  it  up  to  you  none.  I  never  did. 
No,  Jerry,  I'll  row  the  boat.  You  go  overland 
and  keep  your  feet  dry." 

"A  lot  of  good  that  would  do."  Mr.  Quirk 
spoke  morosely.  "I'd  starve  to  death  walkin' 
around  if  you  lost  the  grub." 

This  struck  Tom  Linton  as  a  very  narrow,  a 
very  selfish  way  of  looking  at  the  matter.  He  had 
taken  no  such  view  of  Jerry's  offer ;  he  had  thought 
less  about  the  grub  than  about  his  partner's 
safety.  It  was  an  inconsiderate  and  unfeeling 
remark.  After  a  moment  he  said: 

"You  know  I  don't  throw  things  up  to  you, 
Jerry.  I  ain't  that  kind."  Mr.  Quirk  stirred  un- 
easily. "You  didn't  mean  to  say  that,  did  you?" 

What  Jerry  would  have  answered  is  uncertain, 
267 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

for  his  attention  at  the  moment  was  attracted  by 
a  stranger  who  strode  down  the  bank  and  now 
accosted  him  and  his  partner  jointly. 

"Bon  jour,  m'sieu's!"  said  the  new-comer.  "I'm 
lookin'  for  buy  some  lemon'.  You  got  some,  no?" 

Mr.  Quirk  spoke  irritably.  "Sure.  We've  got  a 
few,  but  they  ain't  for  sale." 

The  stranger — Quirk  remembered  him  as  the 
Frenchman,  Doret,  whom  he  had  seen  at  Sheep 
Camp — smiled  confidently. 

"Oh  yes!  E very t 'ing  is  for  sale  if  you  pay 
'nough  for  him,"  said  he. 

Now  this  fellow  had  broken  the  thread  of  a 
conversation  into  which  a  vague  undertone  of 
acrimony  was  creeping — a  conversation  that  gave 
every  indication  of  developing  into  an  agreeable 
and  soul-satisfying  difference  of  opinion,  if  not 
even  into  a  loud  and  free-spoken  argument  of  the 
old  familiar  sort.  To  have  the  promise  of  an 
invigorating  quarrel  frustrated  by  an  idiotic  di- 
version concerning  lemons  caused  both  old  men 
to  turn  their  pent-up  exasperation  upon  the 
speaker. 

"We've  got  use  for  our  lemons  and  we're  going 
to  keep  them,"  said  Tom.  "We're  lemon-eaters— 
full  of  acid — that's  us." 

"We  wouldn't  give  lemon  aid  to  nobody." 
Jerry  grinned  hi  malicious  enjoyment  of  his  own 
wit. 

"You  got  how  many?"  'Poleon  persisted. 

"Oh,  'bout  enough!  Mebbe  a  dozen  or  two." 

"I  buy  'em.    Dere's  poor  seeck  lady — " 

258 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

Tom  cut  in  brusquely.  "You  won't  buy  any- 
thing here.  Don't  tell  us  your  troubles.  We've 
got  enough  of  our  own,  and  poverty  ain't  among 
the  number." 

"W'at  trouble  you  got,  eh?  Me,  I'm  de  trouble 
man.  Mebbe  I  fix  'em." 

Sourly  the  partners  explained  their  difficulty. 
When  'Poleon  understood  he  smiled  again,  more 
widely. 

"Good!  I  mak'  bargain  wit'  you,  queeck.  Me, 
I'm  pilot  of  de  bes'  an'  I  tak'  your  boat  t'rough 
for  dose  lemon'." 

The  elderly  men  sat  up ;  they  exchanged  startled 
glances. 

"D'you  mean  it?" 

"I'm  goin'  have  dose  lemon'." 

"Can't  you  buy  any  in  the  saloons?" 

"No.  Wai,  w'at  you  say?" 

Tom  inquired  of  his  partner,  "Reckon  you  can 
get  along  without  'em,  Jerry?" 

"Why,  I  been  savin'  'em  for  you." 

"Then  it's  a  go!" 

"One  t'ing  you  do  for  me,  eh?"  'Poleon  hesi- 
tated momentarily.  "It's  goin'  tak'  tarn  for  fin' 
dam'  fool  to  he'p  me  row  dat  bateau,  but — I  fin' 
him.  Mebbe  you  set  up  wit'  li'l  seeck  gal  while 
I'm  gone.  What?"  In  a  few  words  he  made  known 
the  condition  of  affairs  at  his  camp,  and  the  old 
men  agreed  readily  enough.  With  undisguised  re- 
lief they  clambered  stiffly  out  of  their  boat  and 
followed  the  French  Canadian  up  the  trail.  As 
they  toiled  up  the  slope  'Poleon  explained: 

259 


THE    WINbS    OF    CHANCE 

"De  doctor  he's  go  to  Dawson,  an'  free  day  dis 
gal  been  layin'  seeck — crazee  in  de  head.  Every 
hour  medicine,  all  de  tarn  fire  in  de  stove!  Sapre! 
I'm  half  'sleep." 

"  We'll  set  up  with  her  as  long  as  you  want," 
Tom  volunteered.  "  Being  a  family  man  myself, 
I'm  a  regular  nurse." 

"Me,  too,"  Jerry  exclaimed.  "I  never  had  no 
family,  but  I  allus  been  handy  around  hosses,  and 
hosses  is  the  same  as  people,  only  bigger — 

Mr.  Linton  stifled  a  laugh  at  this  remark. 
"That  '11  show  you!"  said  he.  "You  leave  it  to 
me,  Jerry." 

"Well,  ain't  they?" 

"No." 

"They  are,  too." 

"Plumb  different." 

The  argument  waxed  hot;  it  had  reached  its 
height  when  'Poleon  laid  a  finger  upon  his  lips, 
commanding  silence.  On  tiptoe  he  led  the  two  men 
into  his  tent.  When  he  had  issued  instructions 
and  left  in  search  of  a  boatman  the  partners  seated 
themselves  awkwardly,  their  caps  in  their  hands. 
Curiously,  apprehensively,  they  studied  the  fever- 
flushed  face  of  the  delirious  girl. 

"Purty,  ain't  she?"  Jerry  whispered. 

Tom  nodded.  "She's  sick,  all  right,  too,"  he 
said  in  a  similar  tone;  then,  after  a  moment:  "I've 
been  thinking  about  them  lemons.  We're  getting 
about  a  hundred  dollars  a  dozen  for  'em.  Kind 
of  a  rotten  trick,  under  the  circumstances.  I'm 
soriy  you  put  it  up  to  that  feller  the  way  you  did." 

260 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Mr.  Quirk  stiffened,  his  eyes  widened  in  as- 
tonishment. 

"Me?  I  didn't  put  it  up  to  him.  You  done 
it.  They're  your  lemons." 

"How  d'you  figure  they're  mine?" 

"You  bought  'em,  didn't  you?" 

"I  paid  for  'em,  if  that's  what  you  mean,  but 
I  bought  'em  for  you,  same  as  I  bought  that 
liquor.  You've  et  most  of  'em,  and  you've  drank 
most  of  the  whisky.  You  needed  it  worse  than 
I  did,  Jerry,  and  I've  always  considered — " 

Now  any  reference,  any  reflection  upon  his 
physical  limitations,  however  remote  or  indirect, 
aroused  Jerry's  instant  ire.  "At  it  again,  ain't 
you?"  he  cried,  testily.  "I  s'pose  you'll  forget 
about  that  whisky  in  four  or  five  years.  I  hope 
so—" 

"'Sh-h!"  Tom  made  a  gesture  commanding  si- 
lence, for  Jerry  had  unconsciously  raised  his  voice. 
"What  ails  you?"  he  inquired,  sweetly. 

"Nothin'  ails  me,"  Jerry  muttered  under  his 
breath.  ' '  That's  the  trouble.  You're  allus  talkin' 
like  it  did — like  I  had  one  foot  in  the  grave  and 
was  gaspin'  my  last.  I'm  hard  as  a  hickory-nut. 
I  could  throw  you  down  and  set  on  you." 

Mr.  Linton  opened  his  bearded  lips,  then  closed 
them  again ;  he  withdrew  behind  an  air  of  wounded 
dignity.  This,  he  reflected,  was  his  reward  for 
days  of  kindness,  for  weeks  of  irncomplaining 
sacrifice.  Jerry  was  the  most  unreasonable,  the 
most  difficult  person  he  had  ever  met;  the  more 
one  did  for  him  the  crankier  he  became.  There 

261 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

was  no  gratitude  in  the  man,  his  skin  wouldn't 
hold  it.  Take  the  matter  of  their  tent,  for  in- 
stance :  how  would  the  old  fellow  have  managed 
if  he,  Tom,  had  not,  out  of  pure  compassion, 
taken  pity  on  him  and  rescued  him  from  the  rain 
back  there  at  Linderman?  Had  Jerry  remembered 
that  act  of  kindness?  He  had  not.  On  the  con- 
trary, he  had  assumed,  and  maintained,  an  atti- 
tude of  indulgence  that  was  in  itself  an  offense — 
yes,  more  than  an  offense.  Tom  tried  to  center 
his  mind  upon  his  partner's  virtues,  but  it  was  a 
difficult  task,  for  honesty  compelled  him  to  admit 
that  Jerry  assayed  mighty  low  when  you  analyzed 
him  with  care.  Mr.  Linton  gave  up  the  effort 
finally  with  a  shake  of  his  head. 

"What  you  wigwaggin'  about?"  Jerry  inquired, 
curiously.  Tom  made  no  answer.  After  a  mo- 
ment the  former  speaker  whispered,  meditatively: 
"I'd  have  give  him  the  lemons  if  he'd  asked  me 
for  'em.  Sick  people  need  lemons." 

"Sometimes  they  do  and  sometimes  they  don't," 
Mr.  Linton  whispered,  shortly. 

"Lemons  is  acid,  and  acid  cuts  phlegm." 
"Lemons  ain't  acid;   they're  alkali." 
This  statement  excited  a  derisive  snort  from 
Mr.  Quirk.     "Alkali!     My  God!    Ever  taste  al- 
kali?"    Jerry  had  an  irritating  way  of  asserting 
himself  in  regard  to  matters  of  which  he  knew 
less  than  nothing;  his  was  the  scornful  certainty 
of  abysmal  ignorance. 

"Did  you  ever  give  lemons  to  sick  folks?"  Tom 
inquired,  in  his  turn. 

262 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

"Sure!    Thousands." 

Now  this  was  such  an  outrageous  exaggeration 
that  Linton  was  impelled  to  exclaim: 

"Rats!  You  never  saw  a  thousand  sick 
folks." 

"I  didn't  say  so.  I  said  I'd  given  thousands 
of  lemons — " 

"Oh!"  Tom  filled  his  pipe  and  lit  it,  where- 
upon his  partner  breathed  a  sibilant  warning: 

"Put  out  that  smudge!  D'you  aim  to  strangle 
the  girl?" 

With  a  guilty  start  the  offender  quenched  the 
fire  with  his  thumb. 

"The  idea  of  lightin'  sheep-dip  in  a  sick-room!" 
Mr.  Quirk  went  on.  With  his  cap  he  fanned  vio- 
lently at  the  fumes. 

"You  don't  have  to  blow  her  out  of  bed,"  Tom 
growled.  Clumsily  he  drew  the  blankets  closer 
beneath  the  sick  girl's  chin,  but  in  so  doing  he 
again  excited  his  companion's  opposition. 

"Here!"  Jerry  protested.  "She's  burnin'  up 
with  fever.  You  blanket  'em  when  they've  got 
chills."  Gently  he  removed  the  covers  from  Rou- 
letta's  throat. 

Linton  showed  his  contempt  for  this  ridiculous 
assertion  by  silently  pulling  the  bedding  higher 
and  snugly  tucking  it  in.  Jerry  promptly  elbowed 
him  aside  and  pulled  it  lower.  Tom  made  an 
angry  gesture,  and  for  a  third  time  adjusted  the 
covers  to  suit  himself,  whereupon  Jerry  immedi- 
ately changed  them  to  accord  with  his  ideas. 

Aggressively,  violently,  but  without  words  this 

263 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

time,  the  partners  argued  the  matter.  They  were 
glaring  at  each  other,  they  had  almost  come  to 
blows  when,  with  a  start,  Jerry  looked  at  his 
watch.  Swiftly  he  possessed  himself  of  the  medi- 
cine-glass and  spoon;  to  Tom  he  whispered: 

"Quick!   Lift  her  up." 

Linton  refused.  "  Don't  you  know  anything?" 
he  queried.  "  Never  move  a  sick  person  unless 
you  have  to.  Give  it  to  her  as  she  lays." 

"How  you  goin'  to  feed  medicine  out  of  a  spoon 
to  anybody  layin'  down?"  the  other  demanded. 

"Easy!"  Tom  took  the  glass  and  the  teaspoon; 
together  the  two  men  bent  over  the  bed. 

But  Linton' s  hands  were  shaky;  when  he 
pressed  the  spoon  to  Rouletta's  lips  he  spilled  its 
contents.  The  girl  rolled  her  head  restlessly. 

"Pshaw!    She  moved." 

"She  never  moved,"  Jerry  contradicted.  "You 
missed  her."  From  his  nostrils  issued  that  annoy- 
ing, that  insulting,  snort  of  derision  which  so 
sorely  tried  his  partner's  patience.  "You  had  a 
fair  shot  at  her,  layin'  down,  Tom,  and  you  never 
touched  her." 

"Maybe  I'd  have  had  better  luck  if  you  hadn't 
jiggled  me." 

"Hell!  Who  jiggled— ?" 

"'Sh — h!"  Once  more  Mr.  Quirk  had  spoken 
aloud.  "If  you've  got  to  holler,  go  down  by  the 
rapids." 

After  several  clumsy  attempts  both  men  agreed 
that  their  patient  had  doubtless  received  the 
equivalent  of  a  full  dose  of  medicine,  so  Tom 

264 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

replaced  the  glass  and  spoon.  "I'm  a  little  out  of 
practice,"  he  explained. 

"I  thought  you  done  fine."  Jerry  spoke  with 
what  seemed  to  be  genuine  commendation.  "  You 
got  it  into  her  nose  every  time." 

Tom  exploded  with  wrath  and  it  was  Jerry's 
turn  to  command  silence. 

"Why  don't  you  hire  a  hall?"  the  latter  in- 
quired. "Or  mebbe  I  better  tree  a  'coon  for  you 
so  you  can  bark  as  loud  as  you  want  to.  Family 
man!  Huh!"  Linton  bristled  aggressively,  but 
the  whisperer  continued: 

"One  head  of  children  don't  make  a  family 
any  more  'n  one  head  of  heifers  makes  a  herd." 

Tom  paled;  he  showed  his  teeth  beneath  his 
gray  mustache.  Leaning  forward,  he  thrust  his 
quivering  bearded  face  close  to  the  hateful  coun- 
tenance opposite  him.  "D'you  mean  to  call  my 
daughter  a  heifer?"  he  demanded,  in  restrained 
fury. 

"Keep  them  whiskers  to  yourself,"  Jerry 
snapped.  "You  can't  pick  a  row  with  me,  Tom; 
I  don't  quarrel  with  nobody.  I  didn't  call  your 
daughter  a  heifer,  and  you  know  I  didn't.  No 
doubt  she  would  of  made  a  fine  woman  if  she'd 
of  grown  up,  but —  Say!  I  bet  I  know  why  you 
lost  her.  I  bet  you  poured  so  much  medicine  in 
her  crib  that  she  drownded."  Jerry  giggled  at  this 
thought. 

"That  ain't  funny,"  the  other  rumbled.  "If  I 
thought  you  meant  to  call  a  member  of  my  family 
a  heifer — " 

265 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"You've  called  your  wife  worse  'n  that.  I've 
heard  you." 

"I  meant  everything  I  said.  She  was  an  old 
catamount  and — " 

"Prob'bly  she  was  a  fine  woman."  Jerry  had  a 
discourteous  habit  of  interrupting.  "No  wonder 
she  walked  out  and  left  you  flat — she  was  human. 
No  doubt  she  had  a  fine  character  to  start  with. 
So  did  I,  for  that  matter,  but  there's  a  limit  to 
human  endurance." 

"You  don't  have  to  put  up  with  me  any  longer 
than  you  want  to,"  Linton  stormed,  under  his 
breath.  "We  can  get  a  divorce  easy.  All  it  takes 
is  a  saw." 

"You  made  that  crack  once  before,  and  I  called 
your  bluff!"  Jerry's  angry  face  was  now  out- 
thrust;  only  with  difficulty  did  he  maintain  a  tone 
inaudible  to  the  sick  girl.  "Out  of  pity  I  helped 
you  up  and  handed  you  back  your  crutches.  But 
this  time  I'll  let  you  lay  where  you  fall.  A  hun- 
dred dollars  a  dozen  for  lemons!  For  a  poor  lit- 
tle sick  girl!  You  'ain't  got  the  bowels  of  a 
shark!" 

"It  was  your  proposition!" 

"It  wasn't!" 

"It  was!" 

"Some  folks  lie  faster  'n  a  goat  can  gallop." 

"Meaning  me?" 

"Who  else  would  I  mean?" 

"Why  don't  you  call  me  a  liar  and  be  done 
with  it?" 

"I  do.    It  ain't  news  to  anybody  but  you!" 

266 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Having  safely  landed  his  craft  below  the  rapids, 
'Poleon  Doret  hurried  back  to  his  tent  to  find  the 
partners  sitting  knee  to  knee,  face  to  face,  and 
hurling  whispered  incoherencies  at  each  other. 
Both  men  were  in  a  poisonous  mood,  both  were 
ripe  for  violence.  They  overflowed  with  wrath, 
They  were  glaring;  they  shook  their  fists;  they 
were  racked  with  fury;  insult  followed  abuse; 
and  the  sounds  that  issued  from  their  throats  were 
like  the  rustlings  of  a  corn-field  ha  an  autumn  gale. 
Nor  did  inquiry  elicit  a  sensible  explanation  froru 
either. 

"Heifer,  eh?  Drowned  my  own  child,  did  I?" 
Tom  ground  his  teeth  in  a  ferocious  manner. 

"Don't  file  your  tusks  for  me,"  Jerry  chattered; 
"file  the  saw.  We're  goin'  to  need  it." 

"You  men  goin'  cut  dat  boat  in  two  again?" 
'Poleon  inquired,  with  astonishment. 

"Sure.    A.nd  everything  we've  got." 

It  was  Linton  who  spoke;  there  was  a  light  of 
triumph  in  his  eyes,  his  face  was  ablaze  with  an 
urjfioly  satisfaction.  "We've  been  drawing  lots 
tor  twenty  minutes,  and  this  tune — /  got  the  stove!" 

18 


CHAPTER  XVI 

ONCE  again  Tom  and  Jerry's  skiff  had  been 
halved,  once  again  its  owners  smarted  under 
the  memory  of  insults  unwarranted,  of  gibes  that 
no  apology  could  atone  for.  This  time  it  had 
been  old  Jerry  who  cooked  his  supper  over  an  open 
fire  and  old  Tom  who  stretched  the  tarpaulin 
over  his  stove.  Neither  spoke;  both  were  sulky, 
avoiding  each  other's  eye;  there  was  an  air  cf 
bitter,  implacable  hostility. 

Into  this  atmosphere  of  constraint  came  'Poleon 
Doret,  and,  had  it  not  been  for  his  own  anxieties, 
he  would  have  derived  much  amusement  from  the 
situation.  Asxit  was,  however,  he  was  quite  blind 
to  it,  showing  nothing  save  his  own  deep  feeling 
of  concern. 

"M'sieu's,"  he  began,  hurriedly,  "dat  gal  she's 
gettin'  more  seeck.  I'm  scare'  she's  goin'  die  to- 
night. Mebbe  you  set  up  wit'  me,  eh?" 

Tom  quickly  volunteered:  "Why,  sure!  I'm  a 
family  man.  I — '' 

"Family  man!"  Jerry  snorted,  derisively.  "He 
had  one  head,  mister,  and  he  lost  it  inside  of  a 
month.  I'm  a  better  nurse  than  him." 

"Bien!   I  tak'  you  both,"  said  'Poleon. 

268 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

But  Jerry  emphatically  declined  the  invitation. 
"Cut  me  out  if  you  aim  to  make  it  three-handed — 
I'd  Jim  the  deck,  sure.  No,  I'll  set  around  and 
watch  my  grub-pile." 

Tom  addressed  himself  to  'Poleon,  but  his  words 
were  for  his  late  partner. 

"That  settles  me,"  said  he.  "I'll  have  to  stick 
close  to  home,  for  there's  people  I  wouldn't  trust 
near  a  loose  outfit." 

This  was,  of  course,  a  gratuitous  affront.  It 
was  fathered  in  malice;  it  had  its  intended  effect. 
Old  Jerry  hopped  as  if  springs  in  his  rheumatic 
legs  had  suddenly  let  go;  he  uttered  a  shrill  war- 
whoop — a  wordless  battle-cry  in  which  rage  and 
indignation  were  blended. 

"If  a  certain  old  buzzard-bait  sets  up  with  you, 
Frenchy,  count  your  spoons,  that's  all.  I  know 
him.  A  hundred  dollars  a  dozen  for  lemons! 
He'd  rob  a  child's  bank.  He'd  steal  milk  out  of 
a  sick  baby's  bottle." 

The  pilot  frowned.  "  Dis  ain't  no  tarn  for  callin' 
names,"  said  he.  "To-night  dat  gal  goin'  die  or 
— she's  goin'  begin  get  well.  Me,  I'm  mos'  dead 
now.  Mebbe  you  fellers  forget  yourse'f  li'l  while 
an'  he'p  me  out." 

Tom  stirred  uneasily.  With  apparent  firmness 
he  undertook  to  evade  the  issue,  but  hi  his  eyes 
was  an  expression  of  uncertainty.  Jerry,  too,  was 
less  obdurate  than  he  had  pretended.  After  some 
further  argument  he  avoided  a  weak  surrender  by 
muttering : 

"All  right.    Take  him  along,  so  I'll  know  my 

269 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

grub's  safe,  and  I'll  help  you  out.  I'm  a  good  hand 
with  hosses,  and  hosses  are  like  humans,  only  big- 
ger. They  got  more  sense  and  more  affection,  too. 
They  know  when  they're  well  off.  Now  if  a  hoss 
gets  down  you  got  to  get  him  up  and  walk  hini 
around.  My  idea  about  this  girl — 

Mr.  Linton  groaned  loudly,  then  to  'Poleon  he 
cried:  "Lead  the  way.  You  watch  the  girl  and 
I'll  watch  this  vet'rinary." 

That  was  an  anxious  and  a  trying  night  for  the 
three  men.  They  were  unskilled  in  the  care  of  the 
.sick;  nevertheless,  they  realized  that  the  girl's 
illness  had  reached  its  crisis  and  that,  once  the 
crisis  had  passed,  she  would  be  more  than  likely 
to  recover.  Hour  after  hour  they  sat  beside  her, 
administering  her  medicine  regularly,  maintaining 
an  even  temperature  in  the  tent,  and  striving,  as 
best  they  could,  to  ease  her  suffering.  This  done, 
they  could  only  watch  and  wait,  putting  what 
trust  they  had  in  her  youth  and  her  vitality.  Their 
sense  of  helplessness  oppressed  the  men  heavily; 
their  concern  increased  as  the  hours  dragged  along 
and  the  life  within  the  girl  flared  up  to  a  blaze  or 
flickered  down  to  a  mere  spark. 

Doret  was  in  a  pitiable  state,  on  the  verge  of 
exhaustion,  for  his  vigil  had  been  long  and  faithful; 
it  was  a  nightmare  period  of  suspense  for  him. 
Occasionally  he  dozed,  but  only  to  start  into 
wakefulness  and  to  experience  apprehensions 
keener  than  before.  The  man  was  beside  himself, 
and  his  anxiety  had  its  effect  upon  Tom  and 

270 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Jerry.  Their  compassion  increased  when  they 
learned  how  Sam  Kirby  had  been  taken  off  and 
how  Rouletta  had  been  brought  to  this  desperate 
pass.  The  story  of  her  devotion,  her  sacrifice, 
roused  their  deepest  pity,  and  in  the  heat  of  that 
emotion  they  grew  soft. 

This  mellowing  process  was  not  sudden;  no 
spirit  of  forgiveness  was  apparent  in  either  of  the 
pair.  Far  from  it.  Both  remained  sullen,  unre- 
lenting; both  maintained  the  same  icy  front. 
They  continued  to  ignore  each  other's  presence 
and  they  exchanged  speech  only  with  Doret. 
Nevertheless,  their  sympathy  had  been  stirred  and 
a  subtle  change  had  come  over  them. 

This  change  was  most  noticeable  in  Linton.  As 
the  night  wore  on  distressing  memories,  memories 
he  considered  long  dead  and  gone,  arose  to  harass 
him.  It  was  true  that  he  had  been  unhappily 
married,  but  time  had  cured  the  sting  of  that  ex- 
perience, or  so  he  had  believed.  He  discovered 
now  that  such  was  not  the  case;  certain  incidents 
of  those  forgotten  days  recurred  with  poignant 
effect.  He  had  experienced  the  dawn  of  a  father's 
love,  a  father's  pride;  he  lost  himself  in  a  melan- 
choly consideration  of  what  might  have  been  had 
not  that  dawn  been  darkened.  How  different, 
how  full,  how  satisfying,  if —  As  he  looked  down 
upon  the  fair,  fever-flushed  face  of  this  girl  he  felt 
an  unaccustomed  heartache,  a  throbbing  pity  and 
a  yearning  tenderness.  The  hand  with  which  he 
stroked  the  hair  back  from  her  brow  and  rear- 
ranged her  pillow  was  as  gentle  as  a  woman's. 

271 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Jerry,  too,  altered  in  his  peculiar  way.  As  the 
hours  lengthened,  his  wrinkled  face  became  less 
vinegary,  between  his  eyes  there  appeared  a  deep- 
ening frown  of  apprehension.  More  than  once  he 
opened  his  lips  to  ask  Tom's  opinion  of  how  the 
fight  progressed,  but  managed  in  time  to  restrain 
himself.  Finally  he  could  maintain  silence  no 
longer,  so  he  spoke  to  Doret : 

"  Mister !  It  looks  to  me  like  she  ain't  doin'  well." 

'Poleon  rose  from  his  position  beside  the  stove; 
he  bent  over  the  sick-bed  and  touched  Rouletta's 
brow  with  his  great  hand.  In  a  low  voice  he  ad- 
dressed her: 

"Ma  sceur!  Ma  petite  sceur!  It's  'Poleon  spik  to 
you." 

Rouletta's  eyes  remained  vacant,  ner  ceaseless 
whispering  continued  and  the  man  straightened 
himself,  turning  upon  his  elderly  companions. 
Alarm  was  in  his  face;  his  voice  shook. 

"M' wen's!  Wat  shall  we  do?  Queeck!  Tell  me." 

But  Tom  and  Jerry  were  helpless,  hopeless. 
Doret  stared  at  them;  his  hands  came  slowly 
together  over  his  breast,  his  groping  fingers  inter- 
locked; he  closed  his  eyes,  and  for  a  moment  he 
stood  swaying.  Then  he  spoke  again  as  a  man 
speaks  who  suffers  mortal  anguish.  "She  mus' 
not  die!  She — mus'  not  die!  I  tell  you  somet'ing 
now:  dis  li'l  gal  she's  come  to  mean  whole  lot 
for  me.  At  firs'  I'm  sorry,  de  same  lak  you  feel. 
Sure!  But  bimeby  I  get  to  know  her,  for  she  talk, 
talk — all  tarn  she  talk,  lak  crazee  person,  an'  I 
learn  to  know  her  soul,  her  life.  Her  soul  is  w'ite, 

272 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

m1  sleds,  it's  w'ite  an'  beautiful;  her  life — I  lit 
'im  together  in  little  piece,  lak  broken  dish.  Some 
piece  I  never  fin',  but  I  save  'nough  to  mak'  picture 
here  and  dere.  Sometam  I  smile  an'  listen  to  her; 
more  tarn'  I  cry.  She  mak'  de  tears  splash  on  my 
hand. 

"Wai,  I  begin  talk  back  to  her.  I  sing  her  li'l 
song,  I  tell  her  story,  I  cool  her  face,  I  give  her 
medicine,  an'  den  she  sleep.  I  sit  an'  watch  her— 
how  many  day  an'  night  I  watch  her  I  don'  know. 
Sometam  I  sleep  li'l  bit,  but  when  she  stir  an' 
moan  I  spik  to  her  an'  sing  again  until — she  know 
my  voice." 

Toleon  paused;  the  old  men  watched  his  work- 
ing face. 

"M'sieu's"  he  went  on,  "I'm  lonely  man.  I  got 
no  frien's,  no  family;  I  live  in  dreams.  Dat's  all 
I  got  in  dis  whole  worl' — jus'  dreams.  One  dream 
is  dis,  dat  some  day  I'm  going  find  somet'ing  to 
love,  somet'ing  dat  will  love  me.  De  hanimals  I 
tame  dey  run  away;  de  birds  I  mak'  play  wit' 
dey  fly  south  when  de  winter  come.  I  say,  '  Doret, 
dis  gal  she's  poor,  she's  frien'less,  she's  alone. 
She's  very  seeck,  but  you  goin'  mak'  her  well. 
She  ain't  goin'  run  away.  She  ain't  goin'  fly  off 
lak  dem  birds.  No.  She's  goin'  love  you  lak  a 
broder,  an'  mebbe  she's  goin'  let  you  stay  close 
by.'  Dieu!  Dat's  fine  dream,  eh?  It  mak'  me  sing 
inside;  it  mak'  me  warm  an'  glad.  I  w'isper  in 
her  ear,  '  Ma  sceur!  Ma  petite  sceur!  It's  your  beeg 
broder  Toleon  dat  spik.  He's  goin'  mak'  vou 
well/  an'  every  tarn  she  onderstan'.  But  now — " 

273 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

A  sob  choked  the  speaker;  he  opened  his  tight- 
shut  eyes  and  stared  miserably  at  the  two  old 
men.  "I  call  to  her  an'  she  don'  hear.  Wat  I'm 
goin'  do,  eh?" 

Neither  Linton  nor  Quirk  made  reply.  'Poleon 
leaned  forward;  fiercely  he  inquired: 

"Which  one  of  you  feller'  is  de  bes'  man?  Which 
one  is  go  to  church  de  mos'?" 

Tom  and  Jerry  exchanged  glances.  It  was  the 
latter  who  spoke: 

"Tom — this  gentleman — knows  more  about 
churches  than  I  do.  He  was  married  in  one." 

Mr.  Linton  nodded.  "But  that  was  thirty  years 
ago,  so  I  ain't  what  you'd  call  a  regular  attendant. 
I  used  to  carry  my  religion  in  my  wife's  name, 
when  I  had  a  wife." 

"You  can  pray?" 

Tom  shook  his  head  doubtfully.  "I'd  be  sure 
to  make  a  mess  of  it." 

Doret  sank  to  a  seat;  he  lowered  his  head  upon 
his  hands.  "Me,  too,"  he  confessed.  "Every  hour 
I  mak'  prayer  in  my  heart,  but — I  can't  spik  him 
out." 

"If  I  was  a  good  talker  I'd  take  a  crack  at  it," 
Jerry  ventured,  "but — I'd  have  to  be  alone." 

Doret 's  lips  had  begun  to  move;  his  companions 
knew  that  he  was  voicing  a  silent  appeal,  so  they 
lowered  their  eyes.  For  some  moments  the  only 
sound  in  the  tent  was  the  muttering  of  the  delirious 
girl. 

Linton  spoke  finally;  his  voice  was  low,  it  was 
husky  with  emotion:  "I've  been  getting  ac- 

274 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

quainted  with  myself  to-night — first  time  in  a 
long  while.  Things  look  different  than  they  did. 
What's  the  good  of  fighting,  what's  the  use  of 
hurrying  and  trampling  on  each  other  when  this 
is  the  end?  Gold!  It  won't  buy  anything  worth 
having.  You're  right,  Doret;  somebody  to  love 
and  to  care  for,  somebody  that  cares  for  you, 
that's  all  there  is  in  the  game.  I  had  dreams,  too, 
when  I  was  a  lot  younger,  but  they  didn't  last. 
It's  bad  for  a  man  to  quit  dreaming;  he  gets  mean 
and  selfish  and  onnery.  Take  me — I  ain't  worth 
skinning.  I  had  a  kid — little  girl — I  used  to  tote 
her  around  in  my  arms.  Funny  how  it  makes  you 
feel  to  tote  a  baby  that  belongs  to  you;  seems 
like  all  you've  got  is  wrapped  up  in  it;  you  live 
two  lives.  My  daughter  didn't  stay  long.  I  just 
got  started  loving  her  when  she  went  away.  She 
was — awful  nice." 

The  speaker  blinked,  for  his  eyes  were  smarting^ 
"I  feel,  somehow,  as  if  she  was  here  to-night — as 
if  this  girl  was  her  and  I  was  her  daddy.  She 
might  have  looked  something  like  this  young  lady 
if  she  had  lived.  She  would  have  made  a  big 
difference  hi  me." 

Tom  felt  a  hand  seek  his.  It  was  a  bony,  big- 
knuckled  hand  not  at  all  like  'Poleon  Doret's. 
When  it  gave  his  fingers  a  strong,  firm,  friendly 
pressure  his  throat  contracted  painfully.  He 
raised  his  eyes,  but  they  were  blurred;  he  could 
distinguish  nothing  except  that  Jerry  Quirk  had 
sidled  closer  and  that  their  shoulders  all  but 
touched. 

275 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Now  Jerry,  for  all  of  his  crabbedness,  was  a 
sentimentalist;  he  also  was  blind,  and  his  voice 
was  equally  husky  when  he  spoke: 

"I'd  of  been  her  daddy,  too,  wouldn't  I,  Tom? 
We'd  of  shared  her,  fifty-fifty.  I've  been  mean 
to  you,  but  I'd  of  treated  her  all  right.  If  you'll 
forgive  me  for  the  things  I've  said  to  you  maybe 
the  Lord  will  forgive  me  for  a  lot  of  other  things. 
Anyhow,  I'm  goin'  to  do  a  little  rough  prayin'  for 
this  kid.  I'm  goin'  to  ask  Him  to  give  her  a  chance." 

Mr.  Quirk  did  pray,  and  if  he  made  a  bad  job 
of  it,  as  he  more  than  suspected,  neither  of  his 
earthly  hearers  noticed  the  fact,  for  his  words 
were  honest,  earnest.  When  he  had  finished  Tom 
Lmton's  arm  was  around  his  shoulders;  side  by 
side  the  old  men  sat  for  a  long  time.  Their  heads 
were  bowed;  they  kept  their  eyes  upon  Rouletta 
Kirby's  face.  Doret  stood  over  them,  motionless 
and  intense;  they  could  hear  him  sigh  and  they 
could  sense  his  suffering.  WTien  the  girl's  pain 
caused  her  to  cry  out  weakly,  he  knelt  and  whis- 
pered words  of  comfort  to  her. 

Thus  the  night  wore  on. 

The  change  came  an  hour  or  two  before  dawn 
and  the  three  men  watched  it  with  their  hearts  in 
their  throats.  Mutely  they  questioned  one  an- 
other, deriving  deep  comfort  from  each  confirma- 
tory nod  and  gesture,  but  for  some  time  they  dared 
not  voice  their  growing  hope.  Rouletta's  fever 
was  breaking,  they  felt  sure;  she  breathed  more 
deeply,  more  easily,  and  she  coughed  less.  Her 
discomfort  lessened,  too,  and  finally,  when  the 

276 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

•candle-light  grew  feeble  before  the  signs  of  coming 
day,  she  fell  asleep.  Later  the  men  rose  and  stole 
out  of  the  tent  into  the  cold. 

Doret  was  broken.  He  was  limp,  almost  lifeless; 
there  were  deep  lines  about  his  eyes,  but,  never- 
theless, they  sparkled. 

"She's  goin'  get  well,"  he  said,  uncertainly. 
"I'm  goin'  teach  dat  li'l  bird  to  fly  again." 

The  partners  nodded. 

"Sure  as  shootin',"  Jerry  declared. 

"Right-o!"  Linton  agreed.  "Now  then"— he 
spoke  in  an  energetic,  purposeful  tone — "I'm  going 
to  put  Jerry  to  bed  while  I  nail  that  infernal  boat 
together  again." 

"Not  much,  you  ain't!"  Jerry  exclaimed.  "You 
know  I  couldn't  sleep  a  wink  without  you,  Tom. 
What's  more,  I'll  never  try." 

Arm  in  arm  the  two  partners  set  off  down  the 
river-bank.  'Poleon  smiled  after  them.  WTien 
they  were  out  of  sight  he  turned  his  face  up  to  the 
brightening  sky  and  said,  aloud: 

"Bon  Dieu,  I  t'ank  you  for  my  sister's  life." 

Pierce  Phillips  awoke  from  a  cramped  and  trou- 
bled slumber  to  find  himself  lying  upon  a  pile  of 
baggage  in  the  stern  of  a  skiff.  For  a  moment  he 
remained  dazed;  then  he  was  surprised  to  hear 
the  monotonous  creak  of  oars  and  to  feel  that  he 
was  in  motion.  A  fur  robe  had  been  thrown  over 
him;  it  was  powdered  with  snowflakes,  but  it  had 
kept  him  warm.  He  sat  up  to  discover  Laura 
facing  him. 

277 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Hello!"  said  he.    "You  here?" 

The  girl  smiled  wearily.  "  Where  did  you  think 
I'd  be?  Have  a  good  sleep?" 

He  shrugged  and  nodded,  and,  turning  his  eyes 
shoreward,  saw  that  the  forest  was  flowing  slowly 
past.  The  boat  hi  which  he  found  himself  was 
stowed  full  of  impedimenta;  forward  of  Laure  a 
man  was  rowing  listlessly,  and  on  the  seat  beyond 
him  were  two  female  figures  bundled  to  the  ears 
in  heavy  wraps.  They  were  the  'coon-shouting 
sisters  whose  song  had  drawn  Pierce  into  the 
Gold  Belt  Saloon  the  evening  before.  In  the  dis- 
tance were  several  other  boats. 

"You  feel  tough,  I'll  bet."  Laure's  voice  was 
sympathetic. 

After  a  moment  of  consideration  Pierce  shook  his 
head.  "No,"  said  he.  "I  feel  fine — except  that 
I'm  hungry.  I  could  eat  a  log-chain." 

"No  headache?" 

"None.    Why?" 

Laure's  brown  eyes  widened  in  admiration  and 
astonishment.  "Jimminy!  You're  a  hound  for 
punishment.  You  must  have  oak  ribs.  Were  you 
weaned  on  rum?" 

"I  never  took  a  drink  until  last  night.  I'm  a 
rank  amateur." 

"Really!"  The  girl  studied  him  with  renewed 
interest.  "What  set  you  off?" 

Pierce  made  no  answer.  His  face  seemed  fixed 
in  a  frown.  His  was  a  tragic  past;  he  could  not 
bear  to  think  of  it,  much  less  could  he  speak  of  it. 
Noting  that  the  oarsman  appeared  to  be  weary, 

278 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

Pierce  volunteered  to  relieve  him,  an  offer  which 
was  quickly  accepted.  As  he  seated  himself  and 
prepared  to  fall  to  work  Laure  advised  him: 

11  Better  count  your  money  and  see  if  it's  all 
there." 

He  did  as  directed.  "It's  all  here,"  he  assured 
her. 

She  flashed  him  a  smile,  then  crept  into  the  place 
he  had  vacated  and  drew  up  the  robe  snugly. 
Pierce  wondered  why  she  eyed  him  with  that  pe- 
culiar intentness.  Not  until  she  had  fallen  asleep 
did  he  suspect  with  a  guilty  start  that  the  robe 
was  hers  and  that  she  had  patiently  waited  for 
him  to  finish  his  sleep  while  she  herself  was  droop- 
ing with  fatigue.  This  suspicion  gave  him  a  dis- 
agreeable shock;  he  began  to  give  some  thought 
to  the  nature  of  his  new  surroundings.  They  were 
of  a  sort  to  warrant  consideration;  for  a  long  time 
he  rowed  mechanically,  a  frown  upon  his  brow. 

In  the  first  place,  he  was  amazed  to  find  how 
bravely  he  boi }  the  anguish  of  a  breaking  heart, 
and  how  little  he  desired  to  do  away  with  him- 
self. The  world,  strangely  enough,  still  remained 
a  pleasant  place,  and  already  the  fret  for  new 
adventure  was  stirring  in  him.  He  was  not 
happy — thoughts  of  Hilda  awoke  real  pain,  and 
his  sense  of  injury  burned  him  like  a  brand — 
nevertheless,  he  could  not  make  himself  feel  so 
utterly  hopeless,  so  blackly  despondent  as  the  cir- 
cumstances plainly  warranted.  He  was,  on  the 
whole,  agreeably  surprised  at  his  powers  of  re- 
sistance and  of  recuperation,  both  physical  and 

279 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

emotional.  For  instance,  he  should  by  all  means 
experience  a  wretched  reaction  from  his  inebriety; 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had  never  felt  better  in 
his  life;  his  head  was  clear,  he  was  ravenously 
hungry.  Then,  too,  he  was  not  altogether  hope- 
less; it  seemed  quite  probable  that  he  and  Hilda 
would  again  meet,  in  which  event  there  was  no 
telling  wiiat  might  happen.  Evidently  liquor 
agreed  with  him;  in  his  case  it  was  not  only  an 
anodyne,  but  also  a  stimulus,  spurring  him  to 
optimistic  thought  and  independent  action.  Yes, 
whisky  roused  a  fellow's  manhood.  It  must  be 
so,  otherwise  he  would  never  have  summoned  the 
strergth  to  snap  those  chains  which  bound  him 
to  the  Countess  Courteau,  or  the  reckless  courage 
to  embark  upon  an  enterprise  so  foreign  to  his 
tastes  and  to  his  training  as  this  one. 

His  memory  of  the  later  incidents  of  the  night 
before  was  somewhat  indistinct,  as  was  his  recol- 
lection of  the  scene  when  he  had  served  his  notice 
upon  the  Countess.  Of  this  much  he  felt  certain, 
however,  he  had  done  the  right  thing  in  freeing 
himself  from  a  situation  that  reflected  discredit 
upon  his  manhood.  Whether  he  had  acted  wisely 
by  casting  in  his  lot  with  Morris  Best's  outfit  was 
another  matter  altogether.  He  was  quite  sure 
he  had  not  acted  wisely,  but  there  is  a  satisfac- 
tion at  certain  times  in  doing  what  we  know  to 
be  the  wrong  thing. 

Pierce  was  no  fool;  even  his  limited  experience 
in  the  North  had  taught  him  a  good  deal  about 
the  character  of  dance-hall  women  and  of  the  men 

280 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

who  handled  them;  he  was  in  no  wise  deceived, 
therefore,  by  the  respectability  with  which  the 
word  "theatrical"  cloaked  this  troupe  of  wan- 
derers; it  gave  him  a  feeling  of  extreme  self- 
consciousness  to  find  himself  associated  with 
such  folk;  he  felt  decidedly  out  of  place. 

What  would  his  people  think?  And  the  Count- 
ess Courteau?  Well,  it  would  teach  her  that  a 
man's  heart  was  not  a  football;  that  a  man's  love 
was  not  to  be  juggled  with.  He  had  made  a 
gesture  of  splendid  recklessness;  he  would  take 
the  consequences. 

In  justice  to  the  young  man,  be  it  said  he  had 
ample  cause  for  resentment,  and  whatever  of 
childishness  he  displayed  was  but  natural,  for 
true  balance  of  character  is  the  result  of  experi- 
ence, ind  as  yet  he  had  barely  tasted  life. 

As  for  the  girl  Laure,  she  awoke  no  real  interest 
in  him,  now  that  he  saw  her  in  the  light  of  day; 
he  included  her  in  his  general,  vague  contempt  for 
all  women  of  her  type.  There  was,  in  fact,  a  cer- 
tain contamination  in  her  touch.  True,  she  was 
a  little  different  from  the  other  members  of  the 
party — greatly  different  from  Pierce's  precon- 
ceived ideas  of  the  "other  sort"  —  but  not 
sufficiently  different  to  matter.  It  is  the  privilege 
of  arrogant  youth  to  render  stern  and  conclusive 
judgment. 

Best  waved  his  party  toward  the  shore  shortly 
before  dusk.  A  landing-place  was  selected,  tents5 
bedding,  and  paraphernalia  were  unloaded;  then, 
while  the  women  looked  on,  the  boatmen  began 

281 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

pitching  camp.  The  work  had  not  gone  far  before 
Phillips  recognized  extreme  inefficiency  in  it.  Con- 
fusion grew,  progress  was  slow,  Best  became  more 
and  more  excited.  Irritated  at  the  general  inepti- 
tude, Pierce  finally  took  hold  of  things  and  in  a 
short  time  had  made  all  snug  for  the  night. 

Lights  were  glowing  in  the  tents  when  he  found 
his  way  through  the  gloom  to  the  landing  in 
search  of  his  own  belongings.  Seated  on  the  gun- 
wale of  a  skiff  he  discovered  Laure. 

"I've  been  watching  you,"  she  said.  " You're 
a  handy  man." 

He  nodded.  "Is  this  the  way  Best  usually 
makes  camp?" 

"Sure.  Only  it  usually  takes  him  much  longer. 
I'll  bet  he's  glad  he  hired  you." 

Pierce  murmured  something. 

"Are  you  glad  he  did?" 

"Why,  yes — of  course." 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  other  girls?" 

"I  haven't  paid  much  attention  to  them,"  he 
told  her,  frankly. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause;  then  Laure  said: 

"Don't!" 

"Eh?" 

"I  say,  don't!" 

Phillips  shrugged.  In  a  world-weary,  cynical 
tone  he  asserted,  "Women  don't  interest  me." 

"What  ails  you  to-day?"  Laure  inquired,  curi- 
ously. 

' '  Nothing.  I'm  not  much  of  a  ladies'  man,  that's 
.all." 

282 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Yes,  you  are.    Anyhow,  you  were  last  night/' 

"I  was  all  tuned  up,  then,"  he  explained, 
"That's  not  my  normal  pitch." 

"Don't  you  like  me  as  well  as  you  did?" 

"Why— certainly." 

"Is  there  another  woman?" 

"'Another'?"  Pierce  straightened  himself. 
"There's  not  even  one.  What  difference  would  it 
make  if  there  were?" 

"Oh,  none."  Laure's  teeth  flashed  through  the 
gloom.  "I  was  just  curious.  Curiosity  killed  a 
cat,  didn't  it?  Will  you  help  me  up  the  bank?" 

Pierce  took  the  speaker's  arm;  together  they 
climbed  the  gravelly  incline  toward  the  illumina- 
tion from  the  cook  fire.  In  the  edge  of  the  shadows 
Laure  halted  and  her  hand  slipped  down  over 
Pierce' s. 

"Remember!"  she  said,  meaningly.    "Don't — 
or  you'll  hear  from  me." 
19 


CHAPTER  XVII 

TAURE  had  no  cause  to  repeat  her  admoni- 
"  tion,  for,  in  the  days  that  followed,  Pierce 
Phillips  maintained  toward  the  women  members 
of  the  party  an  admirable  attitude  of  aloofness. 
He  was  not  rude,  neither  was  he  discourteous;  he 
merely  isolated  himself  from  them  and  discouraged 
their  somewhat  timid  advances  toward  friendship. 
This  doubtless  would  have  met  with  Laure's  whole- 
hearted approval  had  he  not  treated  her  in  pre- 
cisely the  same  way.  She  had  at  first  assumed  a 
somewhat  triumphant  air  of  proprietorship  toward 
him,  but  this  quickly  gave  way  to  something  en- 
tirely different.  They  began  ^  know  each  other, 
to  be  sure;  for  hours  upon  end  they  were  together, 
which  could  have  resulted  in  nothing  less  than  a 
thorough  acquaintance;  notwithstanding  this, 
there  lurked  behind  Phillips'  friendly  interest  an 
emotional  apathy  that  piqued  the  girl  and  put  her 
on  her  mettle.  She  hid  her  chagrin  under  an  as- 
sumption of  carelessness,  but  furtively  she  studied 
liim,  for  every  hour  he  bulked  bigger  to  her.  He 
exercised  a  pronounced  effect  upon  her;  his  voice, 
his  laughter,  brought  a  light  and  a  sparkle  to  her 
eyes;  she  could  not  rest  when  he  was  out  of  her 

284 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

sight.  His  appeal,  unconscious  on  his  part,  struck 
to  the  very  core  of  her  being.  To  discover  that 
she  lacked  a  similar  appeal  for  him  roused  the  girl 
to  desperation;  she  lay  awake  nights,  trying  to 
puzzle  out  the  reason,  for  this  was  a  new  experience 
to  her.  Recalling  their  meeting  and  the  incidents 
of  that  first  night  at  White  Horse,  she  realized 
that  here  was  a  baffling  secret  and  that  she  did 
not  possess  the  key  to  it. 

One  night  the  truth  came  home  to  her.  Best 
had  made  camp  later  than  usual,  and  as  a  result 
had  selected  a  particularly  bad  spot  for  it — a 
brushy  flat  running  back  from  a  high,  overhanging 
bank  beneath  which  ran  a  swirling  eddy. 

The  tents  were  up,  a  big  camp-fire  was  blazing 
brightly,  when  Pierce  Phillips,  burdened  with  a 
huge  armful  of  spruce  boughs  and  blinded  by  the 
illumination,  stepped  too  close  to  the  river's  rim 
and  felt  the  soil  beneath  him  crumble  away. 
Down  he  plunged,  amid  an  avalanche  of  earth  and 
gravel;  the  last  sound  he  heard  before  the  icy 
waters  received  him  was  Laure's  affrighted  scream. 
An  instant  later  he  had  seized  a  "sweeper/'  to 
which  he  clung  until  help  arrived.  He  was  wet  to 
the  skin,  of  course;  his  teeth  were  chattering  by 
the  time  he  had  regained  the  camp-fire.  Of  the 
entire  party,  Laure  alone  had  no  comment  to 
make  upon  the  accident.  She  stood  motionless, 
leaning  for  support  against  a  tent-pole,  her  face 
hidden  in  her  hands.  Best's  song-birds  were  nois- 
ily twittering  about  Pierce;  Best  himself  was 
congratulating  the  young  man  upon  his  ability 

285 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

to  swim,  when  Laure  spoke,  sharply,  imperi- 
ously: 

"Somebody  find  his  dry  things,  quickly.  And 
you,  Morris,  get  your  whisky." 

While  one  of  the  men  ran  for  Pierce' s  duffle-bag, 
Best  came  hurrying  with  a  bottle  which  he  prof- 
fered to  Pierce.  The  latter  refused  it,  asserting 
that  he  was  quite  all  right;  but  Laure  exclaimed: 

"Drink!  Take  a  good  one,  then  go  into  our  tent 
and  change  as  fast  as  you  can." 

' '  Sure !' '  the  manager  urged.  ' '  Don't  be  afraid  of 
good  liquor.  There  isn't  much  left.  Drink  it  all." 

A  short  time  later,  when  Pierce  reappeared,  clad 
in  dry  garments,  he  felt  none  the  worse  for  his 
mishap,  but  when  he  undertook  to  aid  in  the 
preparations  for  the  night  he  suspected  that  he 
had  taken  his  employer's  orders  too  literally,  for 
his  brain  was  whirling.  Soon  he  discovered  that 
his  movements  were  awkward  and  his  hands  un- 
certain, and  when  his  camp-mates  began  to  joke 
he  desisted  with  a  laughing  confession  that  he 
had  imbibed  too  much. 

Laure  drew  him  out  of  hearing,  then  inquired, 
anxiously,  "Are  you  all  right  again?" 

"Sure!   I  feel  great." 

"I — I  thought  I'd  die  when  I  saw  you  disap- 
pear." She  shuddered  and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands 
for  a  second  tune.  It  was  quite  dark  where  they 
stood;  they  were  sheltered  from  observation. 

"Served  me  right,"  he  declared.  "Next  time 
I'll  look  where —  He  halted  in  amazement. 
"Why,  Laure,  I  believe  you're  crying!" 

286 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

She  lifted  her  face  and  nodded.  "I'm  frightened 
yet."  She  laid  trembling,  exploratory  hands  upon 
him,  as  if  to  reassure  herself  of  his  safety.  " Pierce! 
Pierce!"  she  exclaimed,  brokenly. 

Suddenly  Phillips  discovered  that  this  girl's 
concern  affected  him  deeply,  for  it  was  genuine — 
it  was  not  in  the  least  put  on.  All  at  once  she 
seemed  very  near  to  him,  very  much  a  part  of 
himself.  His  head  was  spinning  now  and  some- 
thing within  him  had  quickened  magically.  There 
was  a  new  note  in  his  voice  when  he  undertook  to 
reassure  his  companion.  At  his  first  word  Laure 
looked  up,  startled;  into  her  dark  eyes,  still  misty 
with  tears,  there  flamed  a  light  of  wonder  and  of 
gladness.  She  swayed  closer;  she  took  the  lapels 
of  his  coat  between  her  gloved  fingers  and  drew 
his  head  down  to  hers;  then  she  kissed  him  full 
upon  the  lips.  Slowly,  resolutely,  his  arms  en- 
circled her. 

On  the  following  morning  Laure  asked  Morris 
Best  for  a  bottle  of  whisky.  The  evenings  were 
growing  cold  and  some  of  the  girls  needed  a  stimu- 
lant while  camp  was  being  pitched,  she  explained. 
The  bottle  she  gave  to  Pierce,  with  a  request  to 
stow  it  in  his  baggage  for  safekeeping,  and  that 
night  when  they  landed,  cramped  and  chilly,  she 
prevailed  upon  him  to  open  it  and  to  drink.  The 
experiment  worked.  Laure  began  to  understand 
that  when  Pierce  Phillips'  blood  flowed  warmly, 
when  he  was  artificially  exhilarated,  then  he  saw 
her  with  the  eyes  of  a  lover.  It  was  not  a  flattering 
discovery,  but  the  girl  contented  herself,  for  by 

287 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

now  she  was  desperate  enough  to  snatch  at  straws. 
Thenceforth  she  counted  upon  strong  drink  as  her 
ally. 

The  closing  scenes  of  the  great  autumn  stam- 
pede to  Dawson  were  picturesque,  for  the  rushing 
river  was  crowded  with  boats  all  racing  with  one 
another.  'Neath  lowering  skies,  past  ghostly  shores 
seen  dimly  through  a  tenuous  curtain  of  sifting 
snowflakes,  swept  these  craft;  they  went  by  ones 
and  by  twos,  in  groups  and  in  flotillas;  hourly  the 
swirling  current  bore  them  along,  and  as  the  miles 
grew  steadily  less  the  spirits  of  the  crews  mounted. 
Loud  laughter,  songs,  yells  of  greeting  and  en- 
couragement, ran  back  and  forth;  a  triumphant 
joyfulness,  a  Jovian  mirth,  animated  these  men  of 
brawn,  for  they  had  met  the  North  and  they  had 
bested  her.  Restraint  had  dropped  away  by  now, 
and  they  reveled  in  a  new-found  freedom.  There 
was  license  in  the  air,  for  Adventure  was  afoot  and 
the  Unknown  beckoned. 

Urged  on  by  oar  and  sweep,  propelled  by  favor- 
ing breezes,  the  Argonauts  pressed  forward  exult- 
antly. At  night  their  roaring  camp-fires  winked  at 
one  another  like  beacon  lights  along  some  friendly 
channel.  Unrolling  before  them  was  an  endless 
panorama  of  spruce  and  birch  and  cottonwood, 
of  high  hills  white  with  snow,  of  unexplored  valleys 
dark  with  promise.  As  the  Yukon  increased  in 
volume  it  became  muddy,  singing  a  low,  hissing 
song,  as  if  the  falling  particles  of  snow  melted  o» 
its  surface  and  turned  to  steam. 

288 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Out  of  all  the  traffic  that  flowed  past  the  dance- 
hall  party,  among  all  the  boats  they  overhauled 
and  left  behind,  Pierce  Phillips  nowhere  recognized 
the  Countess  Courteau's  outfit.  Whether  she  was 
ahead  or  whether  they  had  outdistanced  her  he 
did  not  know  and  inquiry  rewarded  him  with  no 
hint. 

During  this  journey  a  significant  change  gradu- 
ally came  over  the  young  man.  Familiarity,  a  cer- 
tain intimacy  with  his  companions,  taught  him 
much,  and  in  time  he  forgot  to  look  upon  them  as 
pariahs.  Best,  for  instance,  proved  to  be  an  irrita- 
ble but  good-hearted  little  Hebrew;  he  developed 
a  genuine  fondness  for  Pierce,  which  he  took  every 
occasion  to  show,  and  Pierce  grew  to  like  him. 
The  girls,  too,  opened  their  hearts  and  made  him 
feel  their  friendship.  For  the  most  part  they  were 
warm,  impulsive  creatures,  and  Pierce  was  amazed 
to  discover  how  little  they  differed  from  the  girls 
he  had  known  at  home.  Among  then*  faults  he 
discovered  unusual  traits  of  character;  there  was 
not  a  little  kindliness,  generosity,  and  of  course 
much  cheerfulness.  They  were  free-handed  with 
what  they  had;  they  were  ready  with  a  smile,  a 
word  of  encouragement  or  of  sympathy;  they 
were  absurdly  grateful,  too,  for  the  smallest  favor 
or  the  least  act  of  kindness.  Moreover,  they 
behaved  themselves  extremely  well. 

"They  were  an  education  to  Phillips ;  he  acknowl- 
edged that  he  had  gravely  misjudged  them,  and 
he  began  to  suspect  that  they  had  taught  him 
zomething  of  charity. 

289 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

As  for  Laure,  he  knew  her  very  well  by  now  and 
she  knew  him — even  better.  This  knowledge  had 
come  to  them  not  without  cost — wisdom  is  never 
cheap — but  precisely  what  each  of  them  had  paid 
or  was  destined  to  pay  for  their  better  understand- 
ing of  each  other  they  had  not  the  slightest  idea. 
One  thing  the  girl  by  this  time  had  made  sure  of, 
viz.,  when  Pierce  was  his  natural  self  he  felt  her 
appeal  only  faintly.  On  the  other  hand,  the  mo- 
ment he  was  not  his  natural  self,  the  moment  his 
pitch  was  raised,  he  saw  allurements  in  her,  and 
at  such  times  they  met  on  common  ground.  She 
made  the  most  of  this  fact. 

Dawson  City  burst  into  view  of  the  party  with- 
out warning,  and  no  El  Dorado  could  have  looked 
more  promising.  Rounding  a  bend  of  the  river, 
they  beheld  a  city  of  logs  and  canvas  sprawled 
between  the  stream  and  a  curving  mountain-side. 
The  day  was  still  and  clear,  hence  vertical  pencil- 
markings  of  blue  smoke  hung  over  the  roofs; 
against  the  white  background  squat  dwellings 
stood  out  distinctly,  like  diminutive  dolls'  houses. 
Upon  closer  approach  the  river  shore  was  seen  to 
be  lined  with  scows  and  rowboats;  a  stern- 
wheeled  river  steamer  lay  moored  abreast  of  the 
town.  Above  it  a  valley  broke  through  from  the 
north,  out  of  which  poured  a  flood  of  clear,  dark 
water.  It  was  the  valley  of  the  Klondike,  magic 
word. 

The  journey  was  ended.  Best's  boats  were  un- 
loaded, his  men  had  been  paid  off,  and  now  his 
troupe  had  scattered,  seeking  lodgings.  As  in  a 

290 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

dream  Pierce  Phillips  joined  the  drifting  current 
of  humanity  that  flowed  through  the  long  front 
streets  and  eddied  about  the  entrances  of  amuse- 
ment-places. He  asked  himself  if  he  were  indeed 
awake,  if,  after  all,  this  was  his  Ultima  Thule? 
Already  the  labor,  the  hardship,  the  adventure 
of  the  trip  seemed  imaginary ;  even  the  town  itself 
was  unreal.  Dawson  was  both  a  disappointment 
and  a  satisfaction  to  Pierce.  It  was  not  what  he 
had  expected  and  it  by  no  means  filled  the  splen- 
did picture  he  had  painted  in  his  fancy.  Crude, 
raw,  unfinished,  small,  it  was  little  more  than 
Dyea  magnified.  But  in  enterprise  it  was  tremen- 
dous; hence  it  pleased  and  it  thrilled  the  youth. 
He  breathed  its  breath,  he  drank  the  wine  of  its 
intoxication,  he  walked  upon  air  with  his  head  in 
the  clouds. 

Pierce  longed  for  some  one  to  whom  he  could 
confide  his  feeling  of  triumph,  but  nowhere  did  he 
recognize  a  face.  Finally  he  strolled  into  one  of 
the  larger  saloons  and  gambling-houses,  and  was 
contentedly  eying  the  scene  when  he  felt  a  gaze 
fixed  upon  him.  He  turned  his  head,  opened  his 
lips  to  speak,  then  stiffened  in  his  tracks.  He 
could  not  credit  his  senses,  for  there,  lounging  at 
ease  against  the  bar,  his  face  distorted  into  an 
evil  grin,  stood  Joe  McCaskey! 

Pierce  blinked;  he  found  that  his  jaw  had 
dropped  in  amazement.  McCaskey  enjoyed  the 
sensation  he  had  created;  he  leered  at  his  former 
camp-mate,  and  in  his  expression  was  a  hint  of 
that  same  venom  he  had  displayed  when  he  had 

291 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

run  the  gauntlet  at  Sheep  Camp  after  his  flogging , 
He  broke  the  spell  of  Pierce' s  amazement  and 
proved  himself  to  be  indeed  a  reality  by  uttering  a 
greeting. 

Pierce  was  inclined  to  ignore  the  salutation,  but 
curiosity  got  the  better  of  him  and  he  answered: 

"Well!  This  is  a  surprise.  Do  you  own  a  pair 
of  seven-league  boots  or — what?" 

McCaskey  bared  his  teeth  further.  In  triumph 
he  said:  "Thought  you'd  lost  me,  didn't  you? 
But  I  fooled  you — fooled  all  of  you.  I  jumped 
out  to  the  States  and  caught  the  last  boat  for  St. 
Michael,  made  connections  there  with  the  last 
up-river  packet,  and — here  I  am.  I  don't  quit; 
I'm  a  finisher." 

Pierce  noted  the  emphasis  with  which  Joe's  last 
words  were  delivered,  but  as  yet  his  curiosity  was 
unsatisfied.  He  wondered  if  the  fellow  was  suffi- 
ciently calloused  to  disregard  his  humiliating  ex- 
perience or  if  he  proposed  in  some  way  to  conceal 
it.  Certainly  he  had  not  evaded  recognition,  nor 
had  he  made  the  slightest  attempt  to  alter  his  ap- 
pearance. From  his  bold  insouciance  it  seemed 
evident  that  he  was  totally  indifferent  as  to  who 
recognized  him.  Either  the  man  possessed  moral 
courage  of  the  extremest  sort  or  else  an  unbeliev- 
able effrontery. 

As  for  Pierce,  he  was  deeply  resentful  of  Joe's 
false  accusation — the  memory  of  that  was  in- 
eradicable— nevertheless,  in  view  of  the  outcome 
of  that  cowardly  attempt,  he  had  no  desire  for 
further  revenge.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  fellow 

292 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

had  been  sufficiently  punished  for  his  misdeed; 
in  fact,  he  could  have  found  it  easy  to  feel  sorry  for 
him  had  it  not  been  for  the  ill-concealed  malice  in 
Joe's  present  tone  and  attitude. 

He  was  upon  the  point  of  answering  Joe's  indi- 
rect threat  with  a  warning,  when  his  attention  was 
attracted  to  a  short,  thick-set,  nervous  man  at  his 
elbow.  The  latter  had  edged  close  and  was  staring 
curiously  at  him.  He  spoke  now,  saying: 

"So  you're  Phillips,  eh?" 

It  was  Joe  who  replied:   "Sure.    This  is  him/' 

There  was  no  need  of  an  introduction.  Pierce 
recognized  the  stranger  as  another  McCaskey,  for 
the  family  likeness  was  stamped  upon  his  features. 
During  an  awkward  moment  the  two  men  eyed 
each  other,  and  Joe  McCaskey  appeared  to  gloat 
as  then*  glances  clashed. 

"This  is  Frank,"  the  latter  explained,  with  a 
malicious  grin.  "He  and  Jim  was  pals.  And, 
say!  Here's  another  guy  you  ought  to  meet." 
He  laid  a  hand  upon  still  a  second  stranger,  a  man 
leaning  across  the  bar  in  conversation  with  a 
white-aproned  attendant.  "Count,  here's  that 
fellow  I  told  you  about." 

The  man  addressed  turned,  exposing  a  hand- 
some, smiling  blond  face  ornamented  with  a  well- 
cared-for  mustache.'  "I  beg  pardon?"  he  ex- 
claimed, vacuously. 

"Meet  Phillips.  He  can  give  you  some  dope  on 
your  wife."  Joe  chuckled.  Phillips  flushed;  then 
he  paled;  his  face  hardened. 

"Ah!    To  be  sure."    Count  Courteau  bowed, 

293 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

but  he  did  not  extend  his  hand.  "Phillips!  Yes, 
yes.  I  remember.  You  will  understand  that  I'm 
distracted  for  news  of  Hilda.  She  is  with  you, 
perhaps?" 

"I  left  her  employ  at  White  Horse.  If  she's 
not  here,  she'll  probably  arrive  soon." 

"Excellent;    I  shall  surprise  her." 

Pierce  spoke  dryly.  "I'm  afraid  it  won't  be  so 
much  of  a  surprise  as  you  think.  She  rather  ex- 
pects you."  With  a  short  nod  and  with  what 
pretense  of  carelessness  he  could  assume  he  moved 
on  toward  the  rear  of  the  building,  whence  came 
the  sounds  of  music  and  the  voice  of  a  dance-hall 
caller. 

For  some  tune  he  looked  on  blindly  at  the 
whirling  figures.  Joe  McCaskey  here!  And 
Count  Courteau!  What  an  astonishing  coinci- 
dence! And  yet  there  was  really  nothing  so  re- 
markable about  it;  doubtless  the  same  ship  had 
brought  them  north,  in  which  event  they  could 
not  well  have  avoided  a  meeting.  Pierce  remem- 
bered Hilda's  prophecy  that  her  indigent  husband 
would  turn  up,  like  a  bad  penny.  His  presence 
was  agitating — for  that  matter,  so  was  the  pres- 
ence of  Joe  McCaskey's  brother  Frank,  as  yet  an 
unknown  quantity.  That  he  was  an  enemy  was 
certain;  together,  he  and  Joe  made  an  evil  team, 
and  Pierce  was  at  a  loss  just  how  to  meet  them. 

Later,  when  he  strolled  out  of  the  saloon,  he 
saw  the  three  men  still  at  the  bar;  their  heads  were 
together;  they  were  talking  earnestly. 

294 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

DOULETTA  KIRBY  was  awakened  by  the 
1  >  sound  of  chopping;  in  the  still,  frosty  morn- 
ing the  blows  of  the  ax  rang  out  loudly.  For  a 
moment  she  lay  staring  upward  at  the  sloping 
tent-roof  over  her  bed,  studying  with  sleepy  inter- 
est the  frost-fringe  formed  by  her  breath  during 
the  night.  This  fringe  was  of  intricate  design;  it 
resembled  tatters  of  filmy  lace  and  certain  frag- 
ments of  it  hung  down  at  least  a  foot,  a  warning 
that  the  day  was  to  be  extremely  cold.  But  Rou- 
letta  needed  no  proof  of  that  fact  beyond  the 
evidence  of  her  nose,  the  tip  of  which  was  like 
ice  and  so  stiff  that  she  could  barely  wrinkle  it. 
She  covered  it  now  with  a  warm  palm  and  manip- 
ulated it  gently,  solicitously. 

There  was  a  damp,  unpleasant  rune  of  hoar- 
frost standing  on  the  edge  of  her  fur  robe,  and  this 
she  gingerly  turned  back.  Cautiously  she  freed 
one  arm,  then  raised  herself  upon  her  elbow. 
Reaching  up,  she  struck  the  taut  canvas  roof  a 
sharp  blow;  then  with  a  squeak,  like  the  cry  of  a 
frightened  marmot,  she  dodged  under  cover  just 
in  time  to  avoid  the  frosty  shower. 

The  chopping  abruptly  ceased.    'Poleon's  voice 

295 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

greeted  her  gaily:  "Bon  jour,  ma  sceur!  By  golly! 
You  gettin'  be  de  mos'  lazy  gal!  I  'spect  you 
sleep  all  day  only  I  mak'  beeg  noise." 

"  Good  morning !"  Rouletta's  voice  was  muffled. 
As  if  repeating  a  lesson,  she  ran  on:  "Yes,  I  feel 
fine.  I  had  a  dandy  sleep;  didn't  cough  and  my 
lungs  don't  hurt.  And  no  bad  dreams.  So  I 
want  to  get  up.  There!  I'm  well." 

"You  hongry,  too,  I  bet,  eh?" 

11  Oh,  I'm  dying.    And  my  nose — it  won't  work." 

Doret  shouted  his  laughter.  "You  wait.  I 
mak'  fire  queeck  an'  cook  de  breakfas',  den — you' 
nose  goin'  work  all  right.  I  got  beeg  s'prise  for 
dat  li'l  nose  to-day." 

The  top  of  Rouletta's  head,  her  eyes,  then  her 
mouth,  came  cautiously  out  from  hiding. 

"What  is  it,  'Poleon?    Something  to  eat?" 

"Sapre!  What  I  tol'  you?  Every  minute  '  eat, 
eat'!  You'  worse  dan  harmy  of  Swede'.  I  ain't 
goin'  tol'  you  what  is  dis  s'prise — bimeby  you  smell 
him  cookin'." 

"Moose  meat!"  Rouletta  cried. 

"No!"  'Poleon  vigorously  resumed  his  labor; 
every  stroke  of  the  ax  was  accompanied  by  a  loud 
"Huh!"  "I  tol' you  not'in'!"  he  declared;  then 
after  a  moment  he  voiced  one  word,  "Caribou!" 

Again  Rouletta  uttered  a  famished  cry. 

Soon  the  tent  strings  were  drawn  and  the  axman 
pushed  through  the  door,  his  arms  full  of  dry 
spruce  wood.  He  stood  smiling  down  at  the  face 
framed  snugly  in  the  fox  fur;  then  he  dropped  his 
burden  and  knelt  before  the  stove.  In  a  moment 

296 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

there  came  a  promising  crackle,  followed  quickly 
by  an  agreeable  flutter  which  grew  into  a  roar  as 
the  stove  began  to  draw. 

"Caribou!"  Rouletta's  eyes  were  bright  with 
curiosity  and  an  emotion  far  more  material. 
"Where  in  the  world—?" 

"Some  hinjun  hunter  mak'  beeg  kill.  I  got 
more  s'prise  as  dat,  too.  By  golly!  Dis  goin'  be 
regular  Chris'mas  for  you." 

Rouletta  stirred.  There  was  stubborn  defiance 
in  her  tone  when  she  said:  "I'm  going  to  get  up 
and  I'm — going — outdoors — clothes  or  no  clothes. 
I'll  wrap  the  robe  around  me  and  play  I'm  a 
squaw."  She  checked 'Poleon's  protest.  "Oh,  I'm 
perfectly  well,  and  the  clothes  I  have  are  thick 
enough." 

"Look  out  you  don'  froze  yourse'f.  Dat  pretty 
dress  you  got  is  give  you  chillsblain  in  Haugust." 
The  speaker  blew  upon  his  fingers  and  sat  back 
upon  his  heels,  his  eyes  twinkling,  his  brown  face 
wreathed  in  smiles. 

"Then  I  can  do  it?  You'll  let  me  try?"  Rouletta 
was  all  eagerness. 

"We'll  talk  'bout  dat  bimeby.  First  t'ing  we 
goin'  have  beeg  potlatch,  lak  Siwash  weddin'." 

"Goody!    Now  run  away  while  I  get  up." 

But  the  man  shook  his  head.  "Don'  be  soch 
hurry.  Dis  tent  warm  slow.  Las'  night  de  reever 
is  froze  solid  so  far  you  look.  Pretty  queeck 
people  come." 

"Do  you  think  they'll  have  extra  clothes — 
Something  warm  that  I  can  wear?" 

297 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Sure!  I  fix  all  dat."  Still  smiling,  Toleon 
rose  and  went  stooping  out  of  the  tent,  tying  the 
flaps  behind  him.  A  few  rods  distant  was  another 
shelter  which  he  had  pitched  for  himself ;  in  front 
of  it,  on  a  pole  provision-cache,  were  two  quarters 
of  frozen  caribou  meat,  and  seated  comfortably 
in  the  snow  beneath,  eyes  fixed  upon  the  prize, 
were  several  "husky"  dogs  of  unusual  size.  At 
'Poleon's  appearance  they  began  to  caper  and  to 
fawn  upon  him. 

"Ho,  you  ole  t'iefs!"  he  cried,  sternly.  "You 
lak  steal  dose  meat,  I  bet!  Wai,  I  eat  you  'live." 
Stretching  on  tiptoe,  he  removed  one  of  the  quar- 
ters and  bore  it  into  his  tent.  The  dogs  gathered 
just  outside  the  door;  cautiously  they  nosed  the 
canvas  aside;  and  as  'Poleon  set  to  work  with 
hatchet  and  hunting-knife  their  bright  eyes  fol- 
lowed his  every  move. 

"Non!"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  ferocious  frown. 
"You  don't  get  so  much  as  li'l  smell.  You  t'ink 
ma  sceur  goin'  hongry  to  feed  loafer'  lak  you?" 
Bushy  gray  tails  began  to  stir,  the  heads  came 
farther  forward,  there  was  a  most  unmannerly 
licking  of  chops.  "By  Gar!  You  sound  lak' 
miner-man  eatin'  soup.  W'at  for  you  'spect  nice 
grub?  You  don'  work  none."  'Poleon  removed  a 
layer  of  fat,  divided  it,  and  tossed  a  portion  to 
each  animal.  The  morsels  vanished  with  a  single 
gulp,  with  one  wolfish  click  of  sharp  white  teeth. 
"No,  I  give  you  not'in'." 

For  no  reason  whatever  the  speaker  broke  into 
loud  laughter;  then,  to  further  relieve  his  bubbling 

298 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

joyousness,  he  began  to  hum  a  song.  As  he 
worked  his  song  grew  louder,  until  its  words  were 
audible  to  the  girl  in  the  next  tent. 

"Oh,  la  voix  du  beau  Nord  qui  m'appette, 

Pour  benir  avec  lui  le  jour, 
Et  desormais  toute  peine  cruelle 
Fuira  devant  mon  chant  d'amour. 
D'amour,  d'amour." 

("Oh,  the  voice  of  the  North  is  a-calling  me, 

To  join  in  the  praise  of  the  day, 
So  whatever  the  fate  that's  befalling  me, 
I'll  sing  every  sorrow  away.    Away,  away.") 

The  Yukon  stove  was  red-hot  now,  and  Rouletta 
Kirby's  tent  was  warm.  She  seated  herself  before 
a  homely  little  dresser  fashioned  from  two  candle- 
boxes,  and  began  to  arrange  her  hair.  Curiously 
she  examined  the  comb  and  brush.  They  were,  or 
had  been,  'Poleon's;  so  was  the  pocket-mirror 
hanging  by  a  safety-pin  to  the  canvas  wall  above. 
Rouletta  recalled  with  a  smile  the  flourish  of  pride 
with  which  he  had  presented  to  her  this  ludicrous 
bureau  and  its  fittings.  Was  there  ever  such  a 
fellow  as  this  Doret?  Was  there  ever  a  heart  so 
big,  so  kind?  A  stranger,  it  seemed  to  the  girl 
that  she  had  known  him  always.  There  had  been 
days — days  interminable — when  he  had  seemed  to 
be  some  dream  figure;  an  indistinct,  unreal  being 
at  once  familiar  and  unfamiliar,  friendly  and  for- 
bidding; then  other  days  during  which  he  had 
gradually  assumed  substance  and  actuality  and 
during  which  she  had  come  to  know  him.  Follow- 

20  299 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

ing  her  return  to  sanity,  Rouletta  had  experienced 
periods  of  uncertainty  and  of  terror,  then  hours  of 
embarrassment  the  mere  memory  of  which  caused 
her  to  shrink  and  to  hide  her  head.  Those  were 
tunes  of  which,  even  yet,  she  could  not  bear  to 
think.  Hers  had  been  a  slow  recovery  and  a 
painful,  nay  a  tragic,  awakening,  but,  as  she  had 
gained  the  strength  and  the  ability  to  understand 
and  to  suffer,  'Poleon,  with  a  tact  and  a  thought- 
fulness  unexpected  in  one  of  his  sort,  had  dropped 
the  character  of  nurse  and  assumed  the  role  of 
friend  and  protector.  That  had  been  Rouletta' s 
most  difficult  ordeal,  the  most  trying  time  for 
both  of  them,  in  fact ;  not  one  man  in  ten  thousand 
could  have  carried  off  such  an  awkward  situation 
at  a  cost  so  low  to  a  woman's  feelings.  It  was,  of 
course,  the  very  awkwardness  of  that  situation, 
together  with  Toleon's  calm,  courageous  method 
of  facing  it,  that  had  given  his  patient  the  strength 
to  meet  him  half-way  and  that  had  made  her 
convalescence  anything  less  than  a  torture. 

And  the  manner  in  which  he  had  allowed  her 
to  learn  all  the  truth  about  herself — bit  by  bit  as 
her  resistance  grew — his  sympathy,  his  repression, 
his  support!  He  had  to  know  just  how  far  to  go; 
he  had  spared  her  every  possible  heartache,  he 
had  never  permitted  her  to  suffer  a  moment  of 
trepidation  as  to  herself.  No.  Her  first  conscious 
feeling,  now  that  she  recalled  it,  had  been  one  of 
implicit,  unreasoning  faith  hi  him.  That  confi- 
dence had  increased  with  every  hour;  dismay, 

despair,  the  wish  to  die  had  given  place  to  resigna- 

300 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

tion,  then  to  hope,  and  now  to  a  brave  self-confi- 
dence. Rouletta  knew  that  her  deliverance  had 
been  miraculous  and  that  this  man,  this  total 
stranger,  out  of  the  goodness  of  his  heart,  had 
given  her  back  her  life.  She  never  ceased  ponder- 
ing over  it. 

She  was  now  sitting  motionless,  comb  and  brush 
in  hand,  when  Toleon  came  into  the  tent  for  a 
second  time  and  aroused  her  from  her  abstraction. 
She  hastily  completed  her  toilette,  and  was  sitting 
curled  up  on  her  bed  when  the  aroma  of  boiling 
coffee  and  the  sound  of  frying  steak  brought  her 
to  her  feet.  With  a  noisy  clatter  she  enthusi- 
astically arranged  the  breakfast  dishes. 

"How  wonderful  it  is  to  have  an  appetite  in  the 
morning!"  said  she;  then:  "This  is  the  last  tune 
you're  going  to  cook.  You  may  chop  the  wood 
and  build  the  fires,  but  I  shall  attend  to  the  rest. 
I'm  quite  able." 

"Bien!"  The  pilot  smiled  his  agreement. 
"Everybody  mus'  work  to  be  happy — even  dose 
dog.  W'at  you  t'ink?  Dey  loaf  so  long  dey  begin 
fight,  jus'  lak'  people."  He  chuckled.  "Pretty 
queeck  we  hitch  her  up  de  sled  an'  go  fly  to  Dyea. 
You  goin'  henjoy  dat,  ma  soeur.  Mebbe  we  meet 
dose  cheechako'  comin'  in  an'  dey  holler:  'Hallo, 
Frenchy!  How's  t'ing'  in  Dawson?'  an'  we  say: 
'Pouf!  We  don'  care  'bout  Dawson;  we  goin' 
home.'" 

"Home!"  Rouletta  paused  momentarily  in  her 
task. 

"Sure!  Now — voild!  Breakfas'  she's  serve  in  de 

301 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

baggage-car."  With  a  flourish  he  poured  the  cof- 
fee, saying,  "  Let's  see  if  you  so  hongry  lak  you 
pretend,  or  if  I'm  goin'  keep  you  in  bed  some 
more." 

Rouletta's  appetite  was  all — yes,  more — than 
she  had  declared  it  to  be.  The  liberality  with 
which  she  helped  herself  to  oatmeal,  her  lavish  use 
of  the  sugar  -  spoon,  and  her  determined  attack 
upon  the  can  of  " Carnation"  satisfied  any  linger- 
ing doubts  in  Doret's  mind.  Her  predatory  in- 
terest in  the  appetizing  contents  of  the  frying- 
pan — she  eyed  it  with  the  greedy  hopefulness  of 
a  healthy  urchin — also  was  eloquent  of  a  com- 
plete recovery  and  brought  a  thrill  of  pride  to  her 
benefactor. 

"Gosh!  I  mak'  bad  nurse  for  hospital,"  he 
grinned.  "You  eat  him  out  of  house  an'  lot." 
He  finished  his  meal,  then  looked  on  until  Rouletta 
leaned  back  with  regretful  satisfaction;  thereupon 
he  broke  out: 

"Wai,  I  got  more  s'prise  for  you." 

"You — you  can't  surprise  a  toad,  and — I  feel 
just  like  one.  Isn't  food  good?" 

Now  Rouletta  had  learned  much  about  this  big 
woodsman's  peculiarities;  among  other  things  she 
had  discovered  that  he  took  extravagant  delight 
in  his  so-called  "s'prises."  They  were  many  and 
varied,  now  a  titbit  to  tempt  her  palate,  or  again 
a  native  doll  which  needed  a  complete  outfit  of 
moccasins,  cap,  and  parka,  and  which  he  insisted 
he  had  met  on  the  trail,  very  numb  from  the  cold; 
again  a  pair  of  rabbit-fur  sleeping-socks  for  herself. 

302 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

That  crude  dresser,  which  he  had  completed  with- 
out her  suspecting  him,  was  another.  Always  he 
was  making  or  doing  something  to  amuse  or  to 
occupy  her  attention,  and,  although  his  gifts  were 
poor,  sometimes  absurdly  simple,  he  had,  never- 
theless, the  power  of  investing  them  with  im- 
portance. Being  vitally  interested  in  all  things, 
big  or  little,  he  stimulated  others  to  share  in  that 
interest.  Life  was  an  enjoyable  game,  inanimate 
objects  talked  to  him,  every  enterprise  was  tinted 
imaginary  colors,  and  he  delighted  in  pretense — 
welcome  traits  to  Rouletta,  whose  childhood  had 
been  starved. 

"What  is  my  new  s'prise?"  she  queried.  But, 
without  answering,  'Poleon  rose  and  left  the  tent; 
he  was  back  a  moment  later  with  a  bundle  hi  his 
hands.  This  bundle  he  unrolled,  displaying  a  fine 
fur  parka,  the  hood  of  which  was  fringed  with  a 
deep  fox-tail  facing,  the  skirt  and  sleeves  of  an 
elaborate  checker-board  pattern  of  multicolored 
skins.  Gay  squirrel-tail  streamers  depended  from 
its  shoulders  as  further  ornamentation.  Alto- 
gether it  was  a  splendid  specimen  of  Indian  needle- 
work and  Rouletta  gasped  with  delight. 

"How  wonderful!"  she  cried.  "Is — it  for  me?" 
The  pilot  nodded.  "Sure  t'ing.  De  purtiest 
one  ever  I  see.  But  look!"  He  called  her  attention 
to  a  beaver  cap,  a  pair  of  beaded  moose-hide 
mittens,  and  a  pair  of  small  fur  boots  that  went 
with  the  larger  garments — altogether  a  complete 
outfit  for  winter  travel.  "I  buy  him  from  dose 
hinjun  hunter.  Put  him  on,  queeck." 

303 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Rouletta  slipped  into  the  parka;  she  donned 
cap  and  mittens;  and  'Poleon  was  in  raptures. 

"By  golly!  Dat's  beautiful!"  he  declared. 
"Now  you'  fix  for  sure.  No  matter  how  col'  she 
come,  your  li'l  toes  goin'  be  warm,  you  don'  froze 
your  nose — " 

"You're  good  and  true — and — "  Rouletta  fal- 
tered, then  added,  fervently,  "I  shall  always  thank 
God  for  knowing  you." 

Now  above  all  things  Doret  dreaded  his  "sis- 
ter's" serious  moods  or  any  expression  of  her 
gratitude;  he  waved  her  words  aside  with  an  airy 
gesture  and  began  in  a  hearty  tone: 

"We  don't  stop  dis  place  no  longer.  To-morrow 
we  start  for  Dyea.  W'at  you  t'ink  of  dat,  eh? 
Pretty  queeck  you  be  home."  When  his  hearer 
displayed  no  great  animation  at  the  prospect  he 
exclaimed,  in  perplexity:  "You  fonny  gal.  Ain't- 
you  care?" 

"I  have  no  home,"  she  gravely  told  him. 

"But  your  people — dey  goin'  be  glad  for  see 
you?" 

"I  have  no  people,  either.  You  see,  we  lived  a 
queer  life,  father  and  I.  I  was  all  he  had,  outside 
of  poor  Danny  Royal,  and  he — was  all  I  had. 
Home  was  where  we  happened  to  be.  He  sold 
everything  to  come  North;  he  cut  all  ties  and 
risked  everything  on  a  single  throw.  That  was 
his  way,  our  way — all  or  nothing.  I've  been  think- 
ing lately;  I've  asked  myself  what  he  would  have 
wished  me  to  do,  and — I've  made  up  my  mind." 

"So?"   'Poleon  was  puzzled. 

304 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"I'm  not  going  'outside.'  I'm  going  to  Dawson. 
'Be  a  thoroughbred.  Don't  weaken.'  That's 
what  he  always  said.  Sam  Kirby  followed  the 
frontier  and  he  made  his  money  there.  Well,  I'm 
his  girl,  his  blood  is  in  me.  I'm  going  through." 

'Poleon's  brow  was  furrowed  in  deep  thought; 
it  cleared  slowly.  "Dawson  she's  bad  city,  but 
you're  brave  li'l  gal  and — badness  is  here,"  he 
tapped  his  chest  with  a  huge  forefinger.  "So  long 
de  heart  she's  pure,  not'in'  goin'  touch  you."  He 
nodded  in  better  agreement  with  Rouletta's  deci- 
sion. "Mebbe  so  you're  right.  For  me,  I'm  glad, 
very  glad,  for  I  t'ink  my  bird  is  goin'  spread  her 
whig'  an'  fly  away  south  lak  all  de  res',  but  now — 
bien!  I'm  satisfy!  We  go  to  Dawson." 

"Your  work  is  here,"  the  girl  protested.  "I 
can't  take  you  away  from  it." 

"Fonny  t'ing  'bout  work,"  'Poleon  said,  with  a 
grin.  "Plenty  tarn  I  try  to  run  away  from  him, 
but  always  he  catch  up  wit'  me." 

"You're  a  poor  man.  I  can't  let  you  sacrifice 
too  much." 

"Poor?"  The  pilot  opened  his  eyes  hi  amaze- 
ment. "MonDieu!  I'm  reech  feller.  Anybody  is 
reech  so  long  he's  well  an'  happy.  Mebbe  I  sell 
my  claim." 

"Your  claim?  Have  you  a  claim?  At  Daw- 
son?" 

The  man  nodded  indifferently.  "I  stake  him 
las'  winter.  He's  pretty  claim  to  look  at — plenty 
snow,  nice  tree  for  cabin,  dry  wood,  everyt'ing  bu* 
gold.  Mebbe  I  sell  him  for  beeg  price." 

305 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Why  doesn't  it  have  any  gold?"  Rouletta  was 
genuinely  curious. 

1 '  Why?  Biccause  I  stake  him, ' '  Toleon  laughed 
heartily.  "Dose  claim  I  stake  dey  never  has  so 
much  gold  you  can  see  wit'  your  eye.  Not  one, 
an'  I  stake  t'ousan'.  Me,  I  hear  dose  man  talk 
'bout  million  dollar;  I'm  drinkin'  heavy  so  I  t'ink 
I  be  millionaire,  too.  But  bimeby  I'm  sober  ag'in 
an'  my  money  she's  gone.  I'm  res'less  feller;  I 
don'  stop  long  no  place." 

"What  makes  you  think  it's  a  poor  claim?" 

'Poleon  shrugged.  "  All  my  claim  is  poor.  Me, 
I'm  onlucky.  Mebbe  so  I  don'  care  enough  for 
bein'  reech.  W'at  I'll  do  wit'  pile  of  money,  eh? 
Drink  him  up?  Gamble?  Dat's  fun  for  while. 
Every  spring  I  sell  my  fur  an'  have  beeg  tarn; 
two  weeks  I'm  drunk,  but — dat's  plenty.  Any 
feller  dat's  drunk  more  'n  two  weeks  is  bum.  No !" 
He  shook  his  head  and  exposed  his  white  teeth 
in  a  flashing  smile.  "  I'm  cut  off  for  poor  man.  I 
mak'  beeg  soccess  of  dat." 

Rouletta  studied  the  speaker  silently  for  a 
moment.  "I  know."  She  nodded  her  complete 
understanding  of  his  type.  "Well,  I'm  not  going 
to  let  you  do  that  any  more." 

"I  don'  hurt  nobody,"  he  protested.  "I  sing 
plenty  song  an'  fight  li'l  bit.  A  man  mus'  got 
some  fun." 

"Won't  you  promise — for  my  sake?" 

'Poleon  gave  in  after  some  hesitation;  reluc- 
tantly he  agreed.  "Eh  bien!  Mos'  anyt'ing  I 
promise  for  you,  ma  sceur.  But — she's  goin'  be 

306 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

mighty  poor  trip  for  me.  S'pose  mebbe  I  forget 
dose  promise?" 

"I  sha'n't  let  you.  I've  seen  too  much  drinking 
— gambling.  I'll  hold  you  to  your  pledge." 

Again  the  man  smiled;  there  was  a  light  of 
warm  affection  hi  his  eyes.  "By  Gar!  It's  nice 
t'ing  to  have  sister  w'at  care  for  you.  When  we 
goin'  start  for  Dawson,  eh?" 

"  To-morrow." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

CVERY  new  and  prosperous  mining-camp  has 
*-^  an  Arabian  Nights  atmosphere,  characteris- 
tic, peculiar,  indescribable.  Especially  noticeable 
was  this  atmosphere  in  the  early  Arctic  camps, 
made  up  as  they  were  of  men  who  knew  little  about 
mining,  rather  less  about  frontier  ways,  and  next 
to  nothing  about  the  country  in  which  they  found 
themselves.  These  men  had  built  fabulous  hopes, 
they  dwelt  in  illusion,  they  put  faith  in  the  thin- 
nest of  shadows.  Now  the  most  practical  miner  is 
not  a  conservative  person;  he  is  erratic,  credulous, 
and  extravagant;  reasonless  optimism  is  at  once 
his  blessing  and  his  curse.  Nevertheless,  the  "old- 
tuners"  of  the  Yukon  were  moderate  indeed  as 
compared  with  the  adventurous  holiday-seekers 
who  swarmed  in  upon  their  tracks.  Being  none 
too  well  balanced  themselves,  it  was  only  natural 
that  the  exuberance  of  these  new  arrivals  should 
prove  infectious  and  that  a  sort  of  general  auto- 
intoxication should  result.  That  is  precisely  what 
happened  at  Dawson.  Men  lost  all  caution,  all 
common  sense;  they  lived  in  a  land  of  rosy  imag- 
inings; hard-bought  lessons  of  experience  were 
forgotten;  reality  disappeared;  fancy  took  wing 

308 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

and  left  fact  behind;  expectations  were  capitalized 
and  no  exaggeration  was  too  wild  to  challenge 
acceptance.  It  became  a  City  of  Frenzy. 

It  was  all  very  fine  for  an  ardent  youth  like 
Pierce  Phillips;  it  set  him  ablaze,  stirring  a  fever 
hi  his  blood.  Having  won  thus  far,  he  made  the 
natural  mistake  of  believing  that  the  race  was  his; 
so  he  wasted  little  time  in  the  town,  but  very  soon 
took  to  the  hills,  there  to  make  his  fortune  and 
be  done  with  it. 

Here  came  his  awakening.  Away  from  the 
delirium  of  the  camp,  in  contact  with  cold  reality, 
he  began  to  learn  something  of  the  serious,  prac- 
tical business  of  gold-mining.  Before  he  had  been 
long  on  the  creeks  he  found  that  it  was  no  child's 
play  to  wrest  treasure  from  the  frozen  bosom  of  a 
hostile  wilderness,  and  that,  no  matter  how  rich 
or  how  plentiful  the  treasure,  Mother  Earth 
guarded  her  secrets  jealously.  He  began  to  realize 
that  the  obstacles  he  had  so  blithely  overcome  in 
getting  to  the  Klondike  were  as  nothing  to  those 
in  the  way  of  his  further  success.  Of  a  sudden  his 
triumphal  progress  slowed  down  and  he  came  to 
a  pause;  he  began  to  mark  time. 

There  was  work  in  plenty  to  be  had,  but,  like 
most  of  the  new-comers,  he  was  not  satisfied  to 
take  fixed  wages.  They  seemed  paltry  indeed 
compared  with  the  drunken  figures  that  were  on 
every  lip.  In  the  presence  of  the  uncertain  he 
could  not  content  himself  with  a  sure  thing. 
Nevertheless,  he  was  soon  forced  to  the  necessity 
of  resorting  to  it,  for  through  the  fog  of  his  mis- 

309 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

apprehensions,  beneath  the  obscurity  of  his  ig- 
norance, he  began  to  discover  the  true  outline  of 
things  and  to  understand  that  his  ideas  were 
impractical. 

To  begin  with,  every  foot  of  ground  in  the  proven 
districts  was  taken,  and  even  when  he  pushed 
out  far  afield  he  found  that  the  whole  country  was 
plastered  with  locations :  rivers,  creeks  and  tribu- 
taries, benches  and  hillsides,  had  been  staked. 
For  many  miles  in  every  direction  blazed  trees  and 
pencil  notices  greeted  him — he  found  them  in 
places  where  it  seemed  no  foot  but  his  had  ever 
trod.  In  Dawson  the  Gold  Commissioner's  office 
was  besieged  by  daily  crowds  of  claimants;  it 
would  have  taken  years  of  work  on  the  part  of  a 
hundred  thousand  men  to  even  prospect  the 
ground  already  recorded  on  the  books. 

Back  and  forth  Phillips  came  and  went,  he 
made  tripe  with  pack  and  hand-sled,  he  slept  out  in 
spruce  forests,  in  prospectors'  tents,  in  new  cabins 
the  sweaty  green  logs  of  which  were  still  dripping, 
and  when  he  had  finished  he  was  poorer  by  a  good 
many  dollars  and  richer  only  in  the  possession  of  a 
few  recorder's  receipts,  the  value  of  which  he  had 
already  begun  to  doubt. 

Disappointed  he  was,  but  not  discouraged.  It 
was  all  too  new  and  exciting  for  that.  Every  visit 
to  Bonanza  or  El  Dorado  inspired  him.  It  would 
have  inspired  a  wooden  man.  For  miles  those 
valleys  were  smoky  from  the  sinking  fires,  and 
their  clean  white  carpets  were  spotted  with  piles 
of  raw  red  dirt.  By  day  they  echoed  to  blows  of 

310 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

axes,  the  crash  of  falling  trees,  the  plaint  of  wind- 
lasses, the  cries  of  freighters;  by  night  they  be- 
came vast  caldrons  filled  with  flickering  fires; 
tremendous  vats,  the  vapors  from  which  were 
illuminated  by  hidden  furnaces.  One  would  have 
thought  that  here  gold  was  being  made,  not  sought 
— that  this  was  a  region  of  volcanic  hot  springs 
where  every  fissure  and  vent-hole  spouted  steam. 
It  was  a  strange,  a  marvelous  sight;  it  stirred  the 
imagination  to  know  that  underfoot,  locked  in  the 
flinty  depths  of  the  frozen  gravel,  was  wealth  un- 
measured and  unearned,  rich  hoards  of  yellow 
gold  that  yesterday  were  ownerless. 

A  month  of  stampeding  dulled  the  keen  edge 
of  Pierce' s  enthusiasm,  so  he  took  a  breathing- 
spell  in  which  to  get  his  bearings. 

The  Yukon  had  closed  and  the  human  flotsam 
and  jetsam  it  had  borne  thither  was  settling. 
Pierce  could  feel  a  metamorphic  agency  at  work 
in  the  town;  already  new  habits  of  life  were 
crystallizing  among  its  citizens;  and  beneath  its 
whirlpool  surface  new  forms  were  in  the  making. 
It  alarmed  him  to  realize  that  as  yet  his  own  affairs 
were  in  suspense,  and  he  argued,  with  all  the  hot 
impatience  of  youth,  that  it  was  high  tune  he  came 
to  rest.  Opportunities  were  on  every  side  of  him, 
but  he  knew  not  where  or  how  to  lay  hold  of  them 
to  his  best  advantage.  More  than  ever  he  felt 
himself  to  be  the  toy  of  circumstance,  more  than 
ever  h^  feared  the  fallibility  of  his  judgment  and 
the  consequences  of  a  mistake.  He  was  in  a 
mood  both  dissatisfied  and  irresolute  when  he 

311 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

encountered  his  two  trail  friends,  Tom  Linton 
and  Jerry  Quirk.  Pierce  had  seen  them  last  at 
Linderman,  engaged  in  prosecuting  a  stampeders' 
divorce;  he  was  surprised  to  find  them  reunited. 

"I  never  dreamed  you'd  get  through,"  he  told 
them,  when  greetings  had  passed.  "Did  you  come 
in  one  boat  or  in  twro?" 

Jerry  grinned.  "We  sawed  up  that  outlaw  four 
times.  We'd  have  split  her  end  to  end  finally, 
only  we  run  out  of  pitch  to  cork  her  up." 

"That  boat  was  about  worn  out  with  our  bick- 
erings," Tom  declared.  "She  ain't  over  half  the 
length  she  was — all  the  rest  is  sawdust.  If  the 
nail-holes  in  her  was  laid  end  to  end  they'd  reach 
to  Forty  Mile.  We  were  the  last  outfit  in,  as  it 
was,  and  we'd  of  missed  a  landing  if  a  feller  hadn't 
run  out  on  the  shore  ice  and  roped  us.  First  town 
I  ever  entered  on  the  end  of  a  lariat.  Hope  I  don't 
leave  it  the  same  way." 

"Guess  who  drug  us  in,"  Jerry  urged. 

"I've  no  idea,"  said  Pierce. 

"Big  Lars  Anderson." 

"Big  Lars  of  El  Dorado?" 

"He's  the  party.  He  was  just  drunk  enough  to 
risk  breakin'  through.  Wlten  he  found  who  we  was 
— well,  he  gave  us  the  town;  he  made  us  a  present 
of  Dawson  and  all  points  north,  together  with 
the  lands,  premises,  privileges,  and  hereditaments 
appurtenant  thereto.  I  still  got  a  kind  of  a  hang- 
over headache  and  have  to  take  soda  after  my 
meals." 

"Lars  was  a  sheepman  when  we  knew  him," 

312 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Tom  explained.  "Jerry  and  I  purloined  him  from 
some  prominent  cow-gentlemen  who  had  him  all 
decorated  up  ready  to  hang,  and  he  hasn't  forgot- 
ten it.  He  got  everybody  full  the  night  we  landed, 
and  wound  up  by  buying  all  the  fresh  eggs  in  camp. 
Forty  dozen.  We  had  'em  fried.  He's  a  prince 
with  his  money." 

"He  owns  more  property  tnan  anybody,"  said 
Pierce. 

"'Right!    And  he  gave  us  a  'lay.": 

Phillips'  eyes  opened.  "A  lay?  On  El  Dorado?" 
he  queried,  in  frank  amazement. 

"No.  Hunker.  He  says  it's  a  good  creek. 
We're  lookin'  for  a  pardner." 

"What  kind  of  a  partner?" 

It  was  Linton  who  answered.  "Well,  some  nice, 
easy-going,  hard-working  young  feller.  Jerry  and 
I  are  pretty  old  to  wind  a  windlass,  but  we  can 
work  underground  where  it's  warm." 

"'Easy-goin','  that's  the  word,"  Jerry  nodded. 
"Tom  and  me  get  along  with  each  other  like  an 
order  of  buckwheat  cakes,  but  we're  set  in  our 
ways  and  we  don't  want  anybody  to  come  between 
us." 

"How  would  I  do?"  Pierce  inquired,  with  a  smile. 

Tom  answered  promptly.  "If  your  name  was 
put  to  a  vote  I  know  one  of  us  that  wouldn't 
blackball  you." 

"Sure!"  cried  his  partner.  "The  ballot-box 
would  look  like  a  settin'  of  pigeon  eggs.  Think  it 
over  and  let  us  know.  We're  leavin'  to-morrow." 

A  lease  on  Hunker  Creek  sounded  good  to 
313 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Phillips.  Big  Lars  Anderson  had  been  one  of  the 
first  arrivals  from  Circle  City;  already  he  was 
rated  a  millionaire,  for  luck  had  smiled  upon  him; 
his  name  was  one  to  conjure  with.  Pierce  was 
about  to  accept  the  offer  made  when  Jerry  said: 

"Who  d'you  s'pose  got  the  lay  below  ours? 
That  feller  McCaskey  and  his  brother." 

"McCaskey!" 

"He's  an  old  pal  of  Anderson's." 

"Does  Big  Lars  know  he's  a  thief?" 

Jerry  shrugged.  "Lars  ain't  the  kind  that  lis- 
tens to  scandal  and  we  ain't  the  kind  that  carries 
it." 

Pierce  meditated  briefly;  then  he  said,  slowly, 
"If  your  lay  turns  out  good  so  will  McCaskey 's." 
His  frown  deepened.  "Well,  if  there's  a  law  of 
compensation,  if  there's  such  a  thing  as  retributive 
justice — you  have  a  bad  piece  of  ground." 

"But  there  ain't  any  such  thing,"  Tom  quickly 
asserted.  "Anyhow,  it  don't  work  in  mining- 
camps.  If  it  did  the  saloons  would  be  reading- 
rooms  and  the  gamblers  would  take  in  washing. 
Look  at  the  lucky  men  in  this  camp — bums,  most 
of  'em.  George  Carmack  was  a  squaw-man,  and 
he  made  the  strike." 

Pierce  felt  no  fear  of  Joe  McCaskey,  only  dislike 
and  a  desire  to  avoid  further  contact  with  him. 
The  prospect  of  a  long  whiter  in  close  proximity  to 
a  proven  scoundrel  was  repugnant.  Balanced 
against  this  was  the  magic  of  Big  Lars'  name.  It 
was  a  problem;  again  indecision  rose  to  trouble 
him. 

314 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

"I'll  think  it  over,"  he  said,  finally. 

Farther  down  the  street  Phillips'  attention  was 
arrested  by  an  announcement  of  the  opening  of 
the  Rialto  Saloon  and  Theater,  Miller  &  Best, 
proprietors.  Challenged  by  the  name  of  his  former 
employer  and  drawn  by  the  sounds  of  merriment 
from  within,  Pierce  entered.  He  had  seen  little 
of  Laure  since  his  arrival;  he  had  all  but  banished 
her  from  his  thoughts,  in  fact;  but  he  determined 
now  to  look  her  up. 

The  Rialto  was  the  newest  and  the  most  pre- 
tentious of  Dawson's  amusement  palaces.  It  com- 
prised a  drinking-place  with  a  spacious  gambling- 
room  adjoining.  In  the  rear  of  the  latter  was  the 
theater,  a  huge  log  annex  especially  designed  as 
the  home  of  Bacchus  and  Terpsichore. 

The  front  room  was  crowded;  through  an  arch- 
way leading  to  the  gambling-hall  came  the  noise 
of  many  voices,  and  over  all  the  strains  of  an 
orchestra  at  the  rear.  Ben  Miller,  a  famous  sport- 
ing character,  was  busy  weighing  gold  dust  at  the 
massive  scales  near  the  door  when  Pierce  entered. 

The  theater,  too,  was  packed.  Here  a  second 
bar  was  doing  a  thriving  business,  and  every  chair 
on  the  floor,  every  box  hi  the  balcony  overhanging 
three  sides  of  it,  was  occupied.  Waiters  were 
scurrying  up  and  down  the  wide  stairway;  the 
general  hubbub  was  punctuated  by  the  sound  of 
exploding  corks  as  the  Klondike  spendthrifts  ad- 
vertised their  prosperity  in  a  hilarious  contest  of 
prodigality. 

All  Dawson  had  turned  out  for  the  opening,  and 

21  315 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Pierce  recognized  several  of  the  El  Dorado  kings, 
among  them  Big  Lars  Anderson. 

These  new-born  magnates  were  as  thriftless  as 
locusts,  and  hi  the  midst  of  their  bacchanalian 
revels  Pierce  felt  very  poor,  very  obscure.  Here 
was  the  roisterous  spirit  of  the  Northland  at  full 
play;  it  irked  the  young  man  intensely  to  feel  that 
he  could  afford  no  part  in  it.  Laure  was  not  long 
in  discovering  him.  She  sped  to  him  with  the 
swiftness  of  a  swallow;  breathlessly  she  inquired: 

' '  Where  have  you  been  so  long?  Why  didn't  you 
let  me  know  you  were  back?" 

"I  just  got  in.  I've  been  everywhere."  He 
smiled  down  at  her,  and  she  clutched  the  lapel 
of  his  coat,  then  drew  him  out  of  the  crowd.  "I 
dropped  in  to  see  how  you  were  getting  along." 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  the  place?" 

"  Wiry,  it  looks  as  if  you'd  all  get  rich  in  a  night." 

"And  you?  Have  you  done  anything  for  your- 
self?" 

Pierce  shook  his  head;  in  a  few  words  he  re- 
counted his  goings  and  his  comings,  his  efforts  and 
his  failures.  Laure  followed  the  recital  with  swift, 
birdlike  nods  of  understanding;  her  dark  ayes  were 
warm  with  sympathy. 

"You're  going  at  it  the  wrong  way,"  she  as- 
serted when  he  had  finished.  "You  have  brains; 
make  them  work.  Look  at  Best,  look  at  Miller, 
his  new  partner;  they  know  better  than  to  mine. 
Mining  is  a  fool's  game.  Play  a  sure  thing,  Pierce. 
Stay  here  in  town  and  live  like  a  human  being; 
here's  where  the  money  will  be  made." 

316 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Do  you  think  I  want  to  go  flying  over  hill  and 
dale,  like  a  tumbleweed?  I  haven't  had  warm 
feet  in  a  week  and  I  weep  salt  tears  when  I  see 
a  bed.  But  I'm  no  Croesus;  I've  got  to  hustle. 
I  think  I've  landed  something  finally."  He  told 
of  Tom  and  Jerry's  offer,  but  failed  to  impress 
his  listener. 

"If  you  go  out  to  Hunker  Creek  I'll  scarcely 
ever  see  you,"  said  she.  "That's  the  first  objec- 
tion. I've  nearly  died  these  last  three  weeks.  But 
there  are  other  objections.  You  couldn't  get  along 
with  those  old  men.  Why,  they  can't  get  along 
with  each  other!  Then  there's  Joe  McCaskey  to 
think  of.  Why  run  into  trouble?" 

"I've  thought  of  all  that.  But  Big  Lars  is  on 
the  crest  of  his  wave;  he  has  the  Midas  touch; 
everything  he  lays  his  hands  on  turns  to  gold.  He 
believes  in  Hunker — " 

"I'll  find  out  if  he  does,"  Laure  said,  quickly. 
"He's  drinking.  He'll  tell  me  anything.  Wait!" 
With  a  flashing  smile  she  was  off. 

She  returned  with  an  air  of  triumph.  "You'll 
learn  to  listen  to  me,"  she  declared.  "He  says 
Hunker  is  low  grade.  That's  why  he  lets  lays  on 
it  instead  of  working  it  himself.  Lars  is  a  fox." 

"He  said  that?" 

"The  best  there  is  in  it  is  wages.  Those  were 
his  very  words.  Would  you  put  up  with  Linton 
and  Quirk  and  the  two  McCaskeys  for  wages? 
Of  course  not.  I've  something  better  fixed  up  for 
you."  Without  explaining,  she  led  Pierce  to  the 
bar,  where  Morris  Best  was  standing. 

317 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

Best  was  genuinely  glad  to  see  his  former  em- 
ployee; he  warmly  shook  Pierce' s  hand. 

"I've  got  'em  going,  haven't  I?"  he  chuckled. 

Laure  broke  out,  imperiously:  "Loosen  up, 
Morris,  and  let's  all  have  a  drink  on  the  house. 
You  can  afford  it." 

"Sure!"  With  a  happy  grin  the  proprietor 
ordered  a  quart  bottle  of  wine.  "I  can  afford 
more  than  that  for  a  friend.  We  put  it  over,  didn't 
we,  kid?"  He  linked  arms  with  Pierce  and  leaned 
upon  him.  "Oy!  Such  trouble  we  had  with  these 
girls,  eh?  But  we  got  'em  here,  and  now  I  got 
Dawson  going.  I'll  be  one  of  these  Rockyfeller 
magnets,  believe  me." 

Pierce  had  not  tasted  liquor  since  his  last  fare- 
well to  Laure.  Three  weeks  of  hard  work  in  the 
open  air  had  effected  a  chemical  change  hi  his 
make-up,  a  purification  of  his  tissues,  and  as  a 
result  Best's  liquor  mounted  quickly  to  his  head 
and  warmed  his  blood.  When  he  had  emptied  his 
glass  Laure  saw  that  it  was  promptly  refilled. 

"So  you've  cut  out  the  stampeding,"  Morris 
continued.  "Good!  You've  got  sense.  Let  the 
rough-necks  do  it.  This  here  Front  Street  is  the 
best  pay-streak  in  the  Klondike  and  it  won't 
pinch  out.  WTiy?  Because  every  miner  empties 
his  poke  into  it."  The  speaker  nodded,  and  leaned 
more  intimately  against  Phillips.  "They  bring  in 
their  Bonanza  dust  and  their  El  Dorado  nuggets 
and  salt  our  sluices.  That's  the  system.  It's  sim- 
pler as  falling  down  a  log.  What?" 

"Come  to  the  good  news,"  Laure  urged. 

318 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"This  little  woman  hates  you,  don't  she?"  Best 
winked.  "Just  like  she  hates  her  right  eye.  You 
got  her  going,  kid.  Well,  you  can  start  work  to- 
morrow." 

"Start  work?  Where?"   Pierce  was  bewildered. 

"Miller's  looking  for  a  gold-weigher.  We'll  put 
you  out  in  the  saloon  proper." 

"'Saloon  proper'?"  Pierce  shook  his  head  hi 
good-natured  refusal.  "I  dare  say  it's  the  fault 
of  my  bringing-up,  but — I  don't  think  there's  any 
such  thing.  I'm  an  outdoor  person.  I'm  one  of 
the  rough-necks  who  salts  your  sluice-boxes.  I 
think  I'd  better  stick  to  the  hills.  It's  mighty 
nice  of  you,  though,  and  I'm  much  obliged." 

"Are  you  going  to  take  that  other  offer?"  Laure 
inquired.  When  Pierce  hesitated  she  laid  hold  of 
his  other  arm.  "I  won't  let  you  go,"  she  cried. 
"I  want  you  here — " 

"Nonsense!"  he  protested.  "I  can't  do  any- 
thing for  you.  I  have  nothing — " 

"Have  I  ever  asked  you  for  anything?"  she 
blazed  at  him.  "I  can  take  care  of  myself,  but — 
I  want  you.  I  sha'n't  let  you  go." 

"Better  think  it  over,"  Best  declared.  "We 
need  a  good  man." 

"Yes!"  Laure  clung  to  Pierce's  hand.  "Don't 
be  in  a  hurry.  Anyhow,  stay  and  dance  with  me 
while  we  talk  about  it.  We've  never  had  a  dance 
together.  Please!" 

The  proprietor  of  the  theater  was  hi  a  genial 
mood.  "Stick  around,"  he  seconded.  ''Your 
credit  is  good  and  it  won't  worry  me  none  if  you 

319 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

never  take  up  your  tabs.  Laure  has  got  the  right 
idea ;  play  'em  safe  and  gure,  and  let  the  other  feller 
do  the  work.  Now  we'll  have  another  bottle." 

The  three  of  them  were  still  standing  at  the  bar 
when  the  curtain  fell  on  the  last  vaudeville  act 
and  the  audience  swarmed  out  into  the  gambling- 
room  of  the  main  saloon.  Hastily,  noisily,  the 
chairs  were  removed  from  the  dance  floor,  then 
the  orchestra  began  a  spirited  two-step  and  a 
raucous-voiced  caller  broke  into  loud  exhortations. 
In  a  twinkling  the  room  had  refilled,  this  time 
with  whirling  couples. 

Laure  raised  her  arms,  she  swayed  forward  into 
Pierce' s  embrace,  and  they  melted  into  the  throng. 
The  girl  could  dance;  she  seemed  to  float  in  ca- 
dence with  the  music;  she  became  one  with  her 
partner  and  answered  his  every  impulse.  Never 
before  had  she  seemed  so  utterly  and  so  completely 
to  embody  the  spirit  of  pleasure;  she  was  ardent, 
alive,  she  pulsated  with  enjoyment;  her  breath 
was  warm,  her  dark,  fragrant  hair  brushed  Phil- 
lips' cheek;  her  olive  face  was  slightly  flushed; 
and  her  eyes,  uplifted  to  his,  were  glowing.  They 
voiced  adoration,  abandon,  surrender. 

The  music  ended  with  a  crash;  a  shout,  a  storm 
of  applause  followed;  then  the  dancers  swarmed 
to  the  bar,  bearing  Pierce  and  his  companion  with 
them.  Laure  was  panting.  She  clung  fiercely, 
jealously,  to  Phillips'  arm. 

" Dance  with  me  again.  Again!  I  never  knew 
what  it  was — "  She  trembled  with  a  vibrant 
ecstasy. 

320 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

Drinks  were  set  before  them.  The  girl  spurned 
hers,  but  absent-mindedly  pocketed  the  paste- 
board check  that  went  with  it.  While  yet  Pierce' s 
throat  was  warm  from  the  spirits  there  began  the 
opening  measures  of  a  languorous  waltz  and  the 
crowd  swept  into  motion  again.  There  was  no 
refusing  the  invitation  of  that  music. 

Later  in  the  evening  Phillips  found  Tom  and 
Jerry;  his  color  was  deeper  than  usual,  his  eyes 
were  unnaturally  bright. 

"I'm  obliged  to  you,"  he  told  them,  "but  I've 
taken  a  job  as  weigher  with  Miller  &  Best.  Good 
luck,  and — I  hope  you  strike  it  rich." 

When  he  had  gone  Tom  shook  his  head.  His 
face  was  clouded  with  regret  and,  too,  with  a 
vague  expression  of  surprise. 

"Too  bad,"  he  said.  "I  didn't  think  he  was 
that  kind." 

"Sure!"  Jerry  agreed.  "I  thought  he'd  make 
good." 


CHAPTER  XX 

MORRIS  BEST'S  new  partner  was  a  square 
gambler,  so  called.  People  there  were  who 
sneered  at  this  description  and  considered  it  a 
contradiction  as  absurd  as  a  square  circle  or  an 
elliptical  cube.  An  elementary  knowledge  of  the 
principles  of  geometry  and  of  the  retail  liquor  busi- 
ness proved  the  non-existence  of  such  a  thing  as  a 
straight  crook,  so  they  maintained.  But  be  that 
as  it  may,  Ben  Miller  certainly  differed  from  the 
usual  run  of  sporting-men,  and  he  professed  pe- 
culiar ideas  regarding  the  conduct  of  his  trade. 
Those  ideas  were  almost  puritanical  in  their 
nature.  Proprietorship  of  recreation  centers  simi- 
lar to  the  Rialto  had  bred  in  Mr.  Miller  a  profound 
distrust  of  women  as  a  sex  and  of  his  own  ability 
successfully  to  deal  with  them;  in  consequence, 
he  refused  to  tolerate  their  presence  in  his  im- 
mediate vicinity.  That  they  were  valuable,  nay, 
necessary,  ingredients  in  the  success  of  an  enter- 
prise such  as  the  present  one  he  well  knew— 
Miller  was,  above  all,  a  business  man — but  in 
making  his  deal  with  Best  he  had  insisted  positive- 
ly that  none  of  the  latter's  song-birds  were  ever 
to  enter  the  front  saloon.  That  room,  Miller 
maintained,  was  to  be  his  own,  and  he  proposed 

322 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

to  exercise  dominion  over  it.  As  for  the  gambling- 
hall,  that  of  necessity  was  neutral  territory  and 
he  reluctantly  consented  to  permit  the  girls  to 
patronize  it  so  long  as  they  behaved  themselves. 
For  his  part,  he  yielded  all  responsibility  over  the 
theater,  and  what  went  on  therein,  to  Best.  He 
agreed  to  stay  out  of  it. 

This  division  of  power  worked  admirably,  and 
Miller's  prohibitions  were  scrupulously  observed. 
He  was  angered,  therefore,  when,  one  morning, 
his  rule  was  broken.  At  the  moment  he  was  en- 
gaged in  weighing,  checking  up,  and  sacking  his 
previous  night's  receipts,  he  looked  up  with  a 
frown  when  a  woman's — a  girl's — voice  inter- 
rupted him. 

"Are  you  Ben  Miller?"  the  trespasser  inquired. 

Miller  nodded  shortly.  He  could  be  colder 
than  a  frog  when  he  chose. 

"I'm  looking  for  work,"  explained  the  visitor. 

"You  got  the  wrong  door,"  he  told  her.  "You 
want  the  dance-hall.  We  don't  allow  women  in 
here." 

"So  I  understand." 

Miller's  frown  deepened.  "Well,  then,  beat  it! 
Saloons  are  masculine  gender  and — " 

"I'm  not  a  dance-hall  girl,  I'm  a  dealer,"  the 
other  broke  in. 

"You're  a — what?"  Ben's  jaw  dropped;  he 
stared  curiously  at  the  speaker.  She  was  pretty, 
very  pretty,  in  a  still,  dignified  way;  she  had  a 
fine,  intelligent  face  and  she  possessed  a  poise,  a 
carriage,  that  challenged  attention. 

323 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"A  dealer?  What  the  deuce  can  you  deal?" 
he  managed  to  ask. 

"Anything — the  bank,  the  wheel,  the  tub,  the 
cage—" 

Disapproval  returned  to  the  man's  counte- 
nance; there  was  an  admonitory  sternness  to  his 
voice  when  he  said:  "It  ain't  very  nice  to  see  a 
kid  like  you  in  a  place  like  this.  I  don't  know 
where  you  learned  that  wise  talk,  but — cut  it 
out.  Go  home  and  behave  yourself,  sister.  If 
you're  broke,  I'll  stake  you;  so'll  anybody,  for 
that  matter." 

His  visitor  stirred  impatiently.  "Let's  stick  to 
business.  I  don't  want  a  loan.  I'm  a  dealer  and 
I  want  work." 

Morris  Best  bustled  out  of  the  adjoining  room 
at  the  moment,  and,  noting  a  feminine  figure  in 
this  forbidden  territory,  he  exclaimed: 

"Hey,  miss!    Theater's  in  the  rear." 

Miller  summoned  him  with  a  backward  jerk  of 
his  head.  "Morris,  this  kid's  looking  for  a  job — 
as  dealer,"  said  he. 

"Dealer?"  Best  halted  abruptly.  "That's 
funny." 

"What  is  funny  about  it?"  demanded  the  girl. 
* '  My  father  was  a  gambler.  I'm  Rouletta  Kirby . ' ' 

"Are  you  Sam  Kirby's  girl?"  Miller  inquired. 
When  Rouletta  nodded  he  removed  his  hat,  then 
he  extended  his  hand.  "Shake,"  said  he.  "Now 
I've  got  you.  You've  had  a  hard  time,  haven't 
you?  We  heard  about  Sam  and  we  thought  you 
was  dead.  Step  in  here  and  set  down."  He 

324 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

motioned  to  the  tiny  little  office  which  was  cur- 
tained off  from  general  view. 

Rouletta  declined  with  a  smile.  "I  really  want 
work  as  a  dealer.  That's  the  only  thing  I  can 
do  well.  I  came  here  first  because  you  have  a 
good  reputation." 

"Kirby's  kid  don't  have  to  deal  nothing.  She's 
good  for  any  kind  of  a  stake  on  his  name." 

"Dad  would  be  glad  to  hear  that.  He  was  a 
—great  man.  He  ran  straight."  Rouletta's  eyes 
had  become  misty  at  Miller's  indirect  tribute  to 
her  father;  nevertheless,  she  summoned  a  smile 
and  went  on:  "He  never  borrowed,  and  neither 
will  I.  If  you  can't  put  me  to  work  I'll  try  some- 
where else." 

"How  did  you  get  down  from  White  Horse?" 
Miller  inquired,  curiously. 

"Toleon  Doret  brought  me." 

"I  know  Doret.    He's  aces." 

"Can  you  really  deal?"  Best  broke  in. 

"Come.  I'll  prove  that  I  can."  Rouletta 
started  for  the  gambling-room  and  the  two  men 
followed.  Best  spoke  to  his  partner  in  a  low 
voice : 

"Say,  Ben,  if  she  can  make  a  half-way  bluff  at 
it  she'll  be  a  big  card.  Think  of  the  play  she'll 
get." 

But  Miller  was  dubious.  "She's  nothing  but  a 
kid,"  he  protested.  "A  dealer  has  got  to  have 
experience,  and,  besides,  she  ain't  the  kind  that 
belongs  hi  a  dump.  Somebody'd  get  fresh  and — 

I'd  have  to  bust  him." 

136 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

There  was  little  activity  around  the  tables  at 
this  hour  of  the  day;  the  occupants  of  the  gam- 
bling-room were,  for  the  most  part,  house  em- 
ployees who  were  waiting  for  business  to  begin. 
The  majority  of  these  employees  were  gathered 
about  the  faro  layout,  where  the  cards  were  being 
run  in  a  perfunctory  manner  to  an  accompani- 
ment of  gossip  and  reminiscence.  The  sight  of 
Ben  Miller  in  company  with  a  girl  evoked  some 
wonder.  This  wonder  increased  to  amazement 
when  Miller  ordered  the  dealer  out  of  his  seat;  it 
became  open-mouthed  when  the  girl  took  his  place, 
then  broke  a  new  deck  of  cards,  deftly  shuffled 
them,  and  slipped  them  into  the  box.  At  this  pro- 
cedure the  languid  lookout,  who  had  been  comfort- 
ably resting  upon  his  spine, uncurled  his  legs,  hoisted 
himself  into  an  attitude  of  attention,  and  leaned 
forward  with  a  startled  expression  upon  his  face. 

The  gamblers  crowded  closer,  exchanging  ex- 
pectant glances;  Ben  Miller  and  Morris  Best 
helped  themselves  to  chips  and  began  to  play. 
These  were  queer  doings;  the  case-hardened  on- 
lookers prepared  to  enjoy  a  mildly  entertaining 
treat.  Soon  grins  began  to  appear;  the  men  mur- 
mured, they  nudged  one  another,  they  slapped 
one  another  on  the  back,  for  what  they  saw  as- 
tonished and  delighted  them.  The  girl  dealt 
swiftly,  surely;  she  handled  the  paraphernalia  of 
the  faro-table  with  the  careless  familiarity  of  long 
practice;  but  stranger  still,  she  maintained  a  poise, 
a  certain  reserve  and  feminine  dignity  which  were 
totally  incongruous. 

326 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

When,  during  a  pause,  she  absent-mindedly 
.shuffled  a  stack  of  chips,  the  Mocha  Kid  permitted 
his  feelings  to  get  the  better  of  him. 

"Hang  me  for  a  horse-thief!"  he  snickered. 
'"Will  you  look  at  that?"  Now  the  Mocha  Kid 
was  a  ribald  character,  profanity  was  a  part  of 
him,  and  blasphemy  embellished  his  casual  speech. 
The  mildness  of  his  exclamation  showed  that  he 
was  deeply  moved.  He  continued  in  the  same 
admiring  undertone:  "I  seen  a  dame  once  that 
could  deal  a  bank,  but  she  couldn't  pay  and  take. 
This  gal  can  size  up  a  stack  with  her  eyes  shut!" 

Nothing  could  have  more  deeply  intrigued  the 
attention  of  these  men  than  the  sight  of  a  modest, 
quiet,  well-behaved  young  woman  exhibiting  all 
the  technic  of  a  finished  faro-dealer.  It  was 
contrary  to  then*  experience,  to  their  ideas  of  fit- 
ness. Mastery  of  the  gaming-table  requires  years 
of  practice  to  acquire,  and  not  one  of  these  pro- 
fessionals but  was  as  proud  of  his  own  dexterity 
as  a  fine  pianist;  to  behold  a  mere  girl  possessed 
of  all  the  knacks  and  tricks  and  mannerisms  of 
the  craft  excited  their  keenest  risibilities.  In  or- 
der the  more  thoroughly  to  test  her  skill  several 
of  them  bought  stacks  of  chips  and  began  to  play 
in  earnest;  they  played  their  bets  open,  they  cop- 
pered, they  split,  they  strung  them,  and  at  the 
finish  they  called  the  turn.  Rouletta  paid  and 
took;  she  measured  stacks  of  counters  with  un- 
erring facility,  she  overlooked  no  bets.  She  ran 
out  the  cards,  upset  the  box,  and  began  to  re- 
shuffle the  cards. 

327 


"Well,  I'm  a  son  of  a  gun!"  declared  the  look- 
out. He  doubled  up  in  breathless  merriment,  he 
rocked  back  and  forth  in  his  chair,  he  stamped  his 
feet.  A  shout  of  laughter  issued  from  the  others. 

Ben  Miller  closed  the  cases  with  a  crash. 
" You'll  do,"  he  announced.  "If  there's  anything 
you  don't  know  I  can't  teach  it  to  you."  Then 
to  the  bystanders  he  said:  "This  is  Sam  Kirby's 
girl.  She  wants  work,  and  if  I  thought  you 
coyotes  knew  how  to  treat  a  lady  I'd  put  her  on." 

"Say!"  The  Mocha  Kid  scowled  darkly  at 
his  employer.  "What  kinda  guys  do  you  take 
us  for?  What  makes  you  think  we  don't  know — " 

He  was  interrupted  by  an  angry  outburst,  by 
a  chorus  of  resentful  protests,  the  indignant  tone 
of  which  seemed  to  satisfy  Miller.  The  latter 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  rose.  Rouletta  stirred 
as  if  to  follow  suit,  but  eager  hands  stayed  her, 
eager  voices  urged  her  to  remain. 

"Run  'em  again,  miss,"  begged  Tommy  Ryan, 
the  roulette-dealer.  Mr.  Ryan  was  a  pale-faced 
person  whose  addiction  to  harmful  drugs  was 
notorious;  his  extreme  pallor  and  his  nervous 
lack  of  repose  had  gained  for  him  the  title  of 
"Snowbird."  Tommy's  hollow  eyes  were  glow- 
ing, his  colorless  lips  were  parted  in  an  engaging- 
smile.  "Please  run  'em  once  more.  I  'ain't  had 
so  much  fun  since  my  wife  eloped  with  a  drummer 
in  El  Paso." 

Rouletta  agreed  readily  enough,  and  her  admir- 
ing audience  crowded  closer.  Their  interest  was 
magnetic,  their  absorption  and  their  amusement 

328 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

• 

were  communicated  to  some  new-comers  who  had 
dropped  in.  Before  the  girl  had  dealt  half  the 
cards  these  bona-fide  customers  had  found  seats 
around  the  table  and  were  likewise  playing.  They, 
too,  enjoyed  the  novel  experience,  and  the  vehe- 
mence with  which  they  insisted  that  Rouletta  re- 
tain her  office  proved  beyond  question  the  success 
of  Miller's  experiment. 

It  was  not  yet  midday,  nevertheless  the  news 
spread  quickly  that  a  girl  was  dealing  bank  at  the 
Rialto,  and  soon  other  curious  visitors  arrived. 
Among  them  was  Big  Lars  Anderson.  Lars  did 
not  often  gamble,  but  when  he  did  he  made  a 
considerable  business  of  it  and  the  sporting  fra- 
ternity took  him  seriously.  Anything  in  the 
nature  of  an  innovation  tickled  the  big  magnate 
immensely,  and  to  evidence  his  interest  in  this  one 
he  purchased  a  stack  of  chips.  Ere  long  he  had 
lost  several  hundred  dollars.  He  sent  for  Miller, 
finally,  and  made  a  good-natured  complaint  that 
the  game  was  too  slow  for  him. 

"Shall  I  raise  the  limit?"  the  proprietor  asked 
of  Rouletta.  The  girl  shrugged  indifferently, 
whereupon  the  Mocha  Kid  and  the  Snowbird  em- 
braced each  other  and  exchanged  admiring  pro- 
fanities in  smothered  tones. 

Big  Lars  stubbornly  backed  his  luck,  but  the 
bank  continued  to  win,  and  meanwhile  new  arrivals 
dropped  in.  Two,  three  hours  the  play  went  on, 
by  which  time  all  Dawson  knew  that  a  big  game 
was  running  and  that  a  girl  was  in  the  dealer's 
chair.  Few  of  the  visitors  got  close  enough  to 

329 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

verify  the  intelligence  without  receiving  a  sotto  voce 
warning  that  rough  talk  was  taboo' — Miller's  un- 
godly clan  saw  to  that — and  on  the  whole  the 
warning  was  respected.  Only  once  was  it  dis- 
regarded; then  a  heavy  loser  breathed  a  thought- 
less oath.  Disapproval  was  marked,  punishment 
was  condign;  the  lookout  leisurely  descended  from 
his  eyrie  and  floored  the  offender  with  a  blow  from 
his  fist. 

When  the  resulting  disturbance  had  quieted 
down  the  defender  of  decorum  announced  with 
inflexible  firmness,  but  with  a  total  lack  of  heat: 

"  Gents,  this  is  a  sort  of  gospel  game,  and  it's 
got  a  certain  tone  which  we're  going  to  maintain. 
The  limit  is  off,  except  on  cussing,  but  it's 
mighty  low  on  that.  Them  of  you  that  are  indis- 
posed to  swallow  your  cud  of  regrets  will  have  it 
knocked  out  of  you." 

"Good!"  shouted  Big  Lars.  He  pounded  the 
table  with  the  flat  of  his  huge  palm.  "By  Jingo! 
I'll  make  that  unanimous.  If  anybody  has  to 
cuss  let  him  take  ten  paces  to  the  rear  and  cuss 
the  stove." 

It  was  well  along  in  the  afternoon  when  Rouletta 
Kirby  pushed  back  her  chair  and  rose.  She  was 
very  white;  she  passed  an  uncertain  hand  over 
her  face,  then  groped  blindly  at  the  table  for  sup- 
port. At  these  signs  of  distress  a  chorus  of  alarm 
arose. 

"It's  nothing,"  she  smiled.  "I'm  just — hun- 
gry. I've  been  pretty  ill  and  I'm  not  very  strong 
yet." 

330 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Lars  Anderson  was  dumfounded,  appalled. 
"Hungry?  My  God!"  To  his  companions  he 
shouted:  "D'you  hear  that,  boys?  She's  starved 
out!" 

The  boys  had  heard;  already  they  had  begun 
to  scramble.  Some  ran  for  the  lunch-counter  in 
the  adjoining  room,  others  dashed  out  to  the 
nearest  restaurants.  The  Snowbird  so  far  forgot 
his  responsibilities  as  to  abandon  the  roulette- 
wheel  and  leave  its  bank-roll  unguarded  while  he 
scurried  to  the  bar  and  demanded  a  drink,  a  tray 
of  assorted  drinks,  fit  for  a  fainting  lady.  He  came 
flying  back,  yelling,  "Gangway!"  and,  scattering 
the  crowd  ahead  of  him,  he  offered  brandy,  whisky, 
creme  de  menthe,  hootch,  absinthe  and  bitters 
to  Rouletta,  all  of  which  she  declined.  He  was 
still  arguing  the  medicinal  value  of  these  bever- 
ages when  the  swinging  doors  from  the  street 
burst  open  and  in  rushed  the  Mocha  Kid,  a  pie  in 
each  hand.  Other  eatables  and  drinkables  ap- 
peared as  by  magic,  the  faro-table  was  soon  spread 
with  the  fruits  of  a  half-dozen  hasty  and  hysterical 
forays. 

Rouletta  stared  at  the  apprehensive  faces  about 
her,  and  what  she  read  therein  caused  her  lips  to 
quiver  and  her  voice  to  break  when  she  tried  to 
express  her  thanks. 

"Gosh!  Don't  cry!"  begged  the  Mocha  Kid. 
With  a  counterfeit  assumption  of  juvenile  hilarity 
he  exclaimed:  "Oh,  look  at  the  pretty  pies! 
They  got  little  Christmas-trees  on  their  lids,  'ain't 
they?  Um-yum!  Rich  and  juicy!  I  stuck  up 

22  331 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

the  baker  and  stole  his  whole  stock,  but  I  slipped 
and  spilled  'em  F.  0.  B. — flat  on  the  boardwalk." 

Rouletta  laughed.  "  Let's  end  the  game  and 
ail  have  lunch,"  she  suggested,  and  her  invitation 
was  accepted. 

Big  Lars  spoke  up  with  his  mouth  full  of  pastry : 
11  We  don't  allow  anybody  to  go  hungry  in  this 
camp,"  said  he.  "We're  all  your  friends,  miss, 
and  if  there's  anything  you  want  and  can't  afford, 
charge  it  to  me." 

Rouletta  stopped  to  speak  with  Miller,  on  her 
way  out.  "Do  I  get  the  position?"  she  inquired. 

"Say!  You  know  you  get  it!"  he  told  her. 
"You  go  on  at  eight  and  come  off  at  midnight." 

"What  is  the  pay?" 

"I  pay  my  dealers  an  ounce  a  shift,  but — you 
can  write  your  own  ticket.  How  is  two  ounces?" 

"I'll  take  regular  wages,"  Rouletta  smiled. 

Miller  nodded  his  approval  of  this  attitude; 
then  his  face  clouded.  "I've  been  wondering  how 
you're  going  to  protect  your  bank-roll.  Things 
won't  always  be  like  they  were  to-day.  I  s'pose 
I'll  have  to  put  a  man  on — 

"I'll  protect  it,"  the  girl  asserted.  " Agnes  and 
I  will  do  that." 

The  proprietor  was  interested.  "Agnes?  Holy 
Moses!  Is  there  two  of  you?  Have  you  got  a 
sister?  Who's  Agnes?" 

"She's  an  old  friend  of  my  father's." 

Miller  shrugged.  "Bring  her  along  if  you  want 
to,"  he  said,  doubtfully,  "but  those  old  dames 
are  trouble-makers." 

332 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Yes,  Agnes  is  all  of  that,  but" — Rouletta's 
eyes  were  dancing — "she  minds  her  own  business 
and  she'll  guard  the  bank-roll." 

Lucky  Broad  and  Kid  Bridges  had  found  em- 
ployment at  the  Rialto  soon  after  it  opened.  As 
they  passed  the  gold-scales  on  their  way  to  work 
Pierce  Phillips  halted  them. 

"I've  some  good  news  for  you,  Lucky,"  he  an- 
nounced. "You've  lost  your  job." 

"Who,  me?"     Broad  was  incredulous. 

"Miller  has  hired  a  new  faro-dealer,  and  you 
don't  go  on  until  midnight."  Briefly  Pierce  retold 
the  story  that  had  come  to  his  ears  when  he  re- 
ported for  duty  that  evening. 

Broad  and  Bridges  listened  without  comment, 
but  they  exchanged  glances.  They  put  their 
heads  together  and  began  a  low-pitched  conversa- 
tion. They  were  still  murmuring  when  Rouletta 
appeared,  in  company  with  'Poleon  Doret. 

Toleon's  face  lighted  at  sight  of  the  two 
gamblers.  He  strode  forward,  crying:  "Hallo! 
I'm  glad  for  see  you  some  more."  To  the  girl 
he  said:  "You  'member  dese  feller'.  Dey  he'p 
save  you  hi  de  rapids." 

Rouletta  impulsively  extended  her  hands.  "Of 
course !  Could  I  forget?"  She  saw  Pierce  Phillips 
behind  the  scales  and  nodded  to  him.  "Why, 
we're  all  here,  aren't  we?  I'm  so  glad.  Every- 
where I  go  I  meet  friends." 

Lucky  and  the  Kid  inquired  respectfully  re- 
garding her  health,  her  journey  down  the  river, 

333 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

her  reasons  for  being  here;  then  when  they  had 
drawn  her  aside  the  former  interrupted  her  flow 
of  explanations  to  say: 

"  Listen,  Letty.  We  got  just  one  real  question 
to  ask  and  we'd  like  a  straight  answer.  Have  you 
got  any  kick  against  this  Frenchman?" 

"Any  kick  of  any  kind?"  queried  Bridges. 
" We're  your  friends;  you  can  tip  us  off." 

The  sudden  change  in  the  tone  of  their  voices 
caused  the  girl  to  start  and  to  stare  at  them. 
She  saw  that  both  men  were  in  sober  earnest; 
the  reason  behind  their  solicitude  she  appre- 
hended. 

She  laid  a  hand  upon  the  arm  of  each.  Her 
eyes  were  very  bright  when  she  began :  ' ( 'Poleon 
told  me  how  you  came  to  his  tent  that  morning 
after — you  know,  and  he  told  me  what  you  said. 
Well,  it  wasn't  necessary.  He's  the  dearest  thing 
that  ever  lived!" 

11  Why'd  he  put  you  to  work  in  a  place  like  this?" 
Bridges  roughly  demanded. 

"He  didn't.  He  begged  me  not  to  try  it.  He 
offered  me  all  he  has — his  last  dollar.  He — 

Swiftly,  earnestly,  Rouletta  told  how  the  big 
woodsman  had  cared  for  her;  how  tenderly,  faith- 
fully, he  had  nursed  her  back  to  health  and 
strength;  how  he  had  cast  all  his  plans  to  the 
winds  in  order  to  bring  her  down  the  river.  "  He's 
the  best,  the  kindest,  the  most  generous  man  I 
ever  knew,"  she  concluded.  "His  heart  is  clean 
and — his  soul  is  full  of  music." 

'"Std  bueno!"  cried  Lucky  Broad,  in  genuine 

334 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

relief.  "We  had  a  hunch  he  was  right,  but — you 
can't  always  trust  those  Asiatic  races." 

Ben  Miller  appeared  and  warmly  greeted  his  new 
employee.  "  Rested  up,  eh?  Well,  it's  going  to 
be  a  big  night.  Where's  Agnes — the  other  one? 
Has  she  got  cold  feet?" 

"No,  just  a  cold  nose.  Here  she  is."  From  a 
small  bag  on  her  arm  Rouletta  drew  Sam  Kirby's 
six-shooter.  "Agnes  was  my  father's  friend. 
Nobody  ever  ran  out  on  her." 

Miller  blinked,  he  uttered  a  feeble  exclamation, 
then  he  burst  into  a  mighty  laugh.  He  was  still 
shaking,  his  face  was  purple,  there  were  tears  of 
mirth  in  his  eyes,  when  he  followed  Broad,  Bridges, 
and  Rouletta  into  the  gambling-room. 

There  were  several  players  at  the  faro-table 
when  the  girl  took  her  place.  Removing  her 
gloves,  she  stowed  them  away  in  her  bag.  From 
this  bag  she  extracted  the  heavy  Colt's  revolver, 
then  opened  the  drawer  before  her  and  laid  it 
inside.  She  breathed  upon  her  fingers,  rubbing 
the  circulation  back  into  them,  and  began  to 
shuffle  the  cards.  Slipping  them  into  the  box, 
the  girl  settled  herself  in  her  chair  and  looked  up 
into  a  circle  of  grinning  faces.  Before  her  level 
gaze  eyes  that  had  been  focused  queerly  upon  her 
fell.  The  case-keeper's  lips  were  twitching,  but 
he  bit  down  upon  them.  Gravely  he  said: 

"Well,  boys,  let's  go!" 


CHAPTER  XXI 

IN  taking  charge  of  a  sick  girl,  a  helpless,  hope- 
less stranger,  'Poleon  Doret  had  assumed  a  re- 
sponsibility far  greater  than  he  had  anticipated, 
and  that  responsibility  had  grown  heavier  every 
day.  Having,  at  last,  successfully  discharged  it, 
he  breathed  freely,  his  first  relaxation  in  a  long 
time;  he  rejoiced  in  the  consciousness  of  a  difficult 
duty  well  performed.  So  far  as  he  could  see  there 
was  nothing  at  all  extraordinary,  nothing  in  the 
least  improper,  about  Rouletta's  engagement  at 
the  Rialto.  Any  suggestion  of  impropriety,  in 
fact,  would  have  greatly  surprised  him,  for  saloons 
and  gambling-halls  filled  a  recognized  place  in 
the  every-day  social  life  of  the  Northland.  Cus- 
toms were  free,  standards  were  liberal  in  the  early 
days;  no  one,  'Poleon  least  o£  all,  would  have 
dreamed"  that  they  were  destined  to  change  in  a 
night.  Had  he  been  told  that  soon  the  country 
would  be  dry,  and  gambling-games  and  dance-halls 
be  prohibited  by  law,  he  would  have  considered 
the  idea  too  utterly  fantastic  for  belief;  the  mere 
contemplation  of  such  a  dreary  prospect  would 
have  proved  extremely  dispiriting.  He — and  the 
other  pioneers  of  his  kind — would  have  been 

336 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

tempted  immediately  to  pack  up  and  move  on  to 
some  freer  locality  where  a  man  could  retain  his 
personal  liberty  and  pursue  his  happiness  in  a 
manner  as  noisy,  as  intemperate,  and  as  undigni- 
fied as  suited  his  individual  taste. 

In  justice  to  the  saloons,  be  it  said,  they  were 
more  than  mere  drinking-places;  they  were  the 
pivots  about  which  revolved  the  business  life  of 
the  North  country.  They  were  meeting-places, 
social  centers,  marts  of  trade;  looked  upon  as 
evidences  of  enterprise  and  general  prosperity, 
they  were  considered  desirable  assets  to  any  com- 
munity. Everybody  patronized  them;  the  men 
who  ran  them  were,  on  the  whole,  as  reputable  as 
the  men  engaged  in  other  pursuits.  No  particu- 
lar stigma  attached  either  to  the  places  themselves 
or  to  the  people  connected  with  them. 

These  gold-camps  had  a  very  simple  code. 
Work  of  any  sort  was  praiseworthy  and  honor- 
able, idleness  or  unproductivity  was  reprehensible. 
Mining,  storekeeping,  liquor-selling,  gambling, 
steamboating,  all  were  occupations  which  men  fol- 
lowed as  necessity  or  convenience  prompted.  A 
citizen  gamed  repute  by  the  manner  in  which  he 
deported  himself,  not  by  reason  of  the  nature  of 
the  commodity  in  which  he  dealt.  Such,  at  least, 
was  the  attitude  of  the  "old-timers." 

Rouletta's  instant  success,  the  fact  that  she  had 
fallen  among  friends,  delighted  a  woodsman  like 
'Poleon,  and,  now  that  he  was  his  own  master 
again,  he  straightway  surrendered  himself  to  the 

selfish  enjoyment  of  his  surroundings.     His  nature 

337 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

and  his  training  prescribed  the  limits  of  those 
pleasures;  they  were  quite  as  simple  as  his  every- 
day habits  of  life;  he  danced,  he  gambled,  and  he 
drank. 

To-night  he  did  all  three,  in  the  reverse  order. 
To  him  Dawson  was  a  dream  city;  its  lights  were 
dazzling,  its  music  heavenly,  its  games  of  chance 
enticing,  and  its  liquor  was  the  finest,  the  smooth- 
est, the  most  inspiriting  his  tongue  had  ever  tested. 
Old  friends  were  everywhere,  and  new  ones,  too, 
for  that  matter.  Among  them  were  alluring  wom- 
en who  smiled  and  sparkled.  Each  place  'Poleon 
entered  was  the  home  of  carnival. 

By  midnight  he  was  gloriously  drunk.  Ere  day- 
light came  he  had  sung  himself  hoarse,  he  had 
danced  two  holes  in  his  moccasins,  and  had  con- 
ducted three  fist-fights  to  a  satisfactory  if  not  a 
successful  conclusion.  It  had  been  a  celebration 
that  was  to  live  in  his  memory.  He  strode  blindly 
off  to  bed,  shouting  his  complete  satisfaction  with 
himself  and  with  the  world,  retired  without  un- 
dressing, and  then  sang  himself  *o  sleep,  regard- 
less of  the  protests  of  the  other  lodgers. 

"Say!  That  Frenchman  is  a  riot,"  Kid  Bridges 
declared  while  he  and  Lucky  Broad  were  at  break- 
fast. "He's  old  General  Rough-houser,  and  he  set 
an  altogether  new  mark  in  disorderly  conduct  last 
night.  Letty  'most  cried  about  it." 

"Yeah?  Those  yokels  are  all  alike — one  drink 
and  they  declare  a  dividend."  Lucky  was  only 
mildly  concerned.  "I  s'pose  the  vultures  picked 
him  clean." 

338 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

" Nothin'  like  it,"  Bridges  shook  his  head.  "He 
gnawed  'em  naked,  then  done  a  war-dance  with 
their  feathers  in  his  hat.  He  left  'em  bruised  an' 
bleedin'." 

For  a  time  the  two  friends  ate  hi  silence,  then 
Broad  mused,  aloud:  "Letty  'most  cried,  eh? 
Say,  I  wonder  what  she  really  thinks  of  him?" 

"I  don't  know.  Miller  told  me  she  was  all 
broke  up,  and  I  was  goin'  to  take  her  home  and 
see  if  I  could  fathom  her  true  feelin's,  but — Phillips 
beat  me  to  it." 

" Phillips!  He'll  have  to  throw  out  the  life-line 
if  Laure  gets  onto  that.  She'll  take  to  Letty  just 
like  a  lone  timber-wolf." 

"  Looks  like  she'd  been  kiddin'  us,  don't  it? 
She  calls  him  her  'brother'  and  he  says  she's  his 
masseur — you  heard  him,  didn't  you?"  There  was 
another  pause.  "What's  a  masseur,  anyhow?" 

"A  masseur,"  said  Mr.  Broad,  "is  one  of  those 
women  in  a  barber-shop  that  fixes  your  finger- 
nails. Yes,  I  heard  him,  and  I'm  here  to  say 
that  I  didn't  like  the  sound  of  it.  I  don't  yet.  He 
may  mean  all  right,  but — them  foreigners  have  got 
queer  ideas  about  their  women.  Letty's  a  swell 
kid  and  she's  got  a  swell  job.  What's  more,  she's 
got  a  wise  gang  riding  herd  on  her.  It's  just  like 
she  was  in  a  church — no  danger,  no  annoyance, 
nothing.  If  Doret  figures  to  start  a  barber-shop 
with  her  for  his  masseur,  why,  we'll  have  to  lay 
him  low  with  one  of  his  own  razors." 

Mr.  Bridges  nodded  his  complete  approval  of 

this   suggestion.     "Right-o!     I'll   bust   a   mirror 

339 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

with  him  myself.  Them  barber-shops  is  no  place 
for  good  girls." 

Broad  and  Bridges  pondered  the  matter  during 
the  day,  and  that  evening  they  confided  their 
apprehensions  to  their  fellow-workers.  The  other 
Rialto  employees  agreed  that  things  did  not  look 
right,  and  after  a  consultation  it  was  decided  to 
keep  a  watch  upon  the  girl.  This  was  done. 
Prompted  by  their  pride  in  her,  and  a  genuinely 
unselfish  interest  in  her  future,  the  boys  made 
guarded  attempts  to  discover  the  true  state  of 
her  feelings  for  the  French  Canadian,  but  they 
learned  little.  Every  indirect  inquiry  was  met 
with  a  tribute  to  'Poleon's  character  so  frank,  so 
extravagant,  as  to  completely  baffle  them.  Some 
of  the  investigators  declared  that  Rouletta  was 
madly  in  love  with  him;  others  were  equally  posi- 
tive that  this  extreme  frankness  in  itself  proved 
that  she  was  not.  All  agreed,  however,  that 
'Poleon  was  not  in  love  with  her — he  was  alto- 
gether too  enthusiastic  over  her  growing  pop- 
ularity for  a  lover.  Had  the  gamblers  been 
thoroughly  assured  of  her  desires  in  the  matter, 
doubtless  they  would  have  made  some  desperate 
effort  to  marry  'Poleon  to  her,  regardless  of  his 
wishes — they  were  men  who  believed  hi  direct  ac- 
tion—but under  the  circumstances  they  could 
only  watch  and  wait  until  the  uncertainty  was 
cleared  up. 

Meanwhile,  as  'Poleon  continued  his  celebration, 
Rouletta  grew  more  and  more  miserable;  at  last 
he  sobered  up  sufficiently  to  realize  he  was  hurt- 

340 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

ing  her.  He  was  frankly  puzzled  at  this;  he  met 
her  reproaches  with  careless  good-nature,  brush- 
ing aside  the  remonstrances  of  Lucky  Broad  and 
his  fellows  by  declaring  that  he  was  having  the 
time  of  his  life,  and  arguing  that  he  injured  no- 
body. In  the  end  the  girl  prevailed  upon  him 
to  stop  drinking,  and  then  bound  him  to  further 
sobriety  by  means  of  a  sacred  pledge.  When, 
perhaps  a  week  later,  he  disappeared  into  the  hills 
Rouletta  and  her  corps  of  self-appointed  guardians 
breathed  easier. 

But  the  boys  did  not  relax  then*  watchfulness; 
Rouletta  was  their  charge  and  they  took  good 
care  of  her.  None  of  the  Rialto's  patrons,  for 
instance,  was  permitted  to  follow  up  his  first  ac- 
quaintance with  "  the  lady  dealer."  Some  mem- 
ber of  the  clan  was  always  on  hand  to  frown  down 
such  an  attempt.  Broad  or  Bridges  usually 
brought  her  to  work  and  took  her  home,  the 
Snowbird  and  the  Mocha  Kid  made  it  a  practice 
to  take  her  to  supper,  and  when  she  received  in- 
vitations from  other  sources  one  or  the  other  of 
them  firmly  declined,  in  her  name,  and  treated  the 
would-be  host  with  such  malevolent  suspicion  that 
the  invitation  was  never  repeated.  Far  from  tak- 
ing offense  at  this  espionage,  Rouletta  rather  en- 
joyed it;  she  grew  to  like  these  ruffians,  and  that 
liking  became  mutual.  Soon  most  of  them  took 
her  into  their  confidence  with  a  completeness 
that  threatened  to  embarrass  her,  as,  for  instance, 
when  they  discussed  in  her  hearing  incidents  in 
their  colorful  lives  that  the  Mounted  Police  would 

341 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

have  given  much  to  know.  The  Mocha  Kid,  in 
particular,  was  addicted  to  reminiscence  of  an 
incriminating  sort,  and  he  totally  ignored  Rou- 
letta's  protests  at  sharing  the  secrets  of  his  guilty 
past.  As  for  the  Snowbird,  he  was  fond  of  telling 
her  fairy^stories.  They  were  queer  fairy-stories, 
all  beginning  in  the  same  way: 

"Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  beautiful  Prin- 
cess and  her  name  was  Rouletta." 

All  the  familiar  characters  figured  in  these  nar- 
ratives, the  Wicked  Witch,  the  Cruel  King,  the 
Handsome  Prince;  there  were  other  characters, 
too,  such  as  the  Wise  Guy,  the  Farmer's  Son,  the 
Boob  Detective,  the  Tough  Mary  Ann  and  the 
Stony-hearted  Jailer. 

The  Snowbird  possessed  a  fertile  fancy  but  it 
ran  in  crooked  channels;  although  he  launched  his 
stories  according  to  Grimm,  he  sailed  them  through 
seas  of  crime,  of  violence,  and  of  bloodshed  too 
realistic  to  be  the  product  of  pure  imagination. 
The  adventures  of  the  beautiful  Princess  Rouletta 
were  blood-curdling  hi  the  extreme,  and  the  doings 
of  her  criminal  associates  were  unmistakably 
autobiographic.  Naturally  Rouletta  never  felt 
free  to  repeat  these  stories,  but  it  was  not  long 
before  she  began  to  look  forward  with  avid  in- 
terest to  her  nightly  entertainment. 

Inasmuch  as  Pierce  Phillips  w^ent  off  shift  at 
the  same  tune  as  did  Rouletta,  they  met  frequent- 
ly, and  more  than  once  he  acted  as  her  escort. 
He  offered  such  a  marked  contrast  to  the  other 
employees  of  the  Rialto,  his  treatment  of  her  was 

342 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

at  such  total  variance  with  theirs,  that  he  inter- 
ested her  in  an  altogether  different  way.  His 
was  an  engaging  personality,  but  just  why  she 
grew  so  fond  of  him  she  could  not  tell;  he  was 
neither  especially  witty  and  accomplished  nor 
did  he  lay  himself  out  to  be  unusually  agreeable. 
He  was  quiet  and  reserved;  nevertheless,  he  had 
the  knack  of  making  friends  quickly.  Rouletta 
had  known  men  like  Broad  and  Bridges  and  the 
Mocha  Kid  all  her  life,  but  Pierce  was  of  a  type 
quite  new  and  diverting.  She  speculated  con- 
siderably regarding  him. 

Their  acquaintance,  while  interesting,  had  not 
progressed  much  beyond  that  point  when  Rouletta 
experienced  a  disagreeable  shock.  She  had  strolled 
into  the  theater  one  evening  and  was  watching  the 
performance  when  Laure  accosted  her.  As  Rou- 
letta had  not  come  into  close  contact  with  any  of 
the  dance-hall  crowd,  she  was  surprised  at  the 
tone  this  girl  assumed. 

" Hello!  Looking  for  new  conquests?"  Laure 
began. 

Miss  Kirby  shook  her  head  hi  vague  denial, 
but  the  speaker  eyed  her  with  open  hostility  and 
there  was  an  unmistakable  sneer  behind  her  next 
words : 

"  What's  the  matter?  Have  you  trimmed  all 
the  leading  citizens?" 

"I've  finished  my  work,  if  that's  what  you 
mean." 

"Now  you're  going  to  try  your  hand  at  box- 
rustling,  eh?" 

343 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Rouletta's  expression  altered;  she  regarded  her 
inquisitor  more  intently.  "You  know  I'm  not," 
said  she.  "What  are  you  driving  at?" 

"Well,  why  don't  you?    Are  you  too  good?" 

"Yes."  The  visitor  spoke  coldly.  She  turned 
away,  but  Laure  stepped  close  and  cried,  in  a  low, 
angry  voice: 

"Oh  no,  you're  not!  You've  fooled  the  men, 
but  you  can't  fool  us  girls.  I've  got  your  number. 
I  know  your  game." 

"My  game?  Then  why  don't  you  take  a  shift 
in  the  gambling-room?  WTiy  work  in  here?" 

"You  understand  me,"  the  other  persisted. 
"Too  good  for  the  dance-hall,  eh?  Too  good  to 
associate  with  us  girls;  too  good  to  live  like  us! 
You  stop  at  the  Courteau  House,  the  respectable 
hotel!  Bah!  Miller  fell  for  you,  but — you'd  bet- 
ter let  well  enough  alone." 

"That's  precisely  what  I  do.  If  there  were  a 
better  hotel  than  the  Courteau  House  I'd  stop 
there.  But  there  isn't.  Now,  then,  suppose  you 
tell  me  what  really  ails  you." 

Laure's  dusky  eyes  were  blazing,  her  voice  was 
hoarse  when  she  answered: 

"All  right.  I'll  tell  you.  I  want  you  to  mind 
your  own  business.  Yes,  and  I'm  going  to  see 
that  you  do.  You  can't  go  home  alone,  can  you? 
Afraid  of  the  dark,  I  suppose,  or  afraid  some  man 
will  speak  to  you.  My  goodness!  The  airs  you 
put  on — you!  Sam  Kirby's  girl,  the  daughter  of 
a  gambler,  a — " 

"Leave  my  father  out  of  this!"    There  was 

344 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

something  of  Sam  Kirby's  force  in  this  sharp  com- 
mand, something  of  his  cold,  forbidding  anger  in 
his  daughter's  face.  "He's  my  religion,  so  you'd 
better  lay  off  of  him.  Speak  out.  Where  did  I 
tread  on  your  toes?" 

"Well,  you  tread  on  them  every  time  you  stop 
at  the  gold-scales,  if  you  want  to  know.  I  have 
a  religion,  too,  and  it's  locked  up  in  the  cashier's 
cage." 

There  was  a  pause;  the  girls  appraised  each 
other  with  mutual  dislike. 

"You  mean  Mr.  Phillips?" 

"I  do.  See  that  you  call  him  ' Mister/  and 
learn  to  walk  home  alone." 

"Don't  order  me.     I  can't  take  orders." 

Laure  was  beside  herself  at  this  defiance.  She 
grew  blind  with  rage,  so  much  so  that  she  did  not 
notice  Phillips  himself ;  he  had  approached  within 
hearing  distance.  "You've  got  the  boss;  he's 
crazy  about  you,  but  Pierce  is  mine — " 

"What's  that?"  It  was  Phillips  who  spoke. 
"What  are  you  saying  about  me?"  Both  girls 
started.  Laure  turned  upon  him  furiously. 

"I'm  serving  notice  on  this  faro-dealer,  that's 
all.  But  it  goes  for  you,  too — " 

Phillips'  eyes  opened,  his  face  whitened  with 
an  emotion  neither  girl  had  before  seen.  To 
Rouletta  he  said,  quietly: 

"The  other  boys  are  busy,  so  I  came  to  take 
you  home." 

Laure  cried,  wildly,  hysterically:  "Don't  do  it! 
I  warn  you!" 

345 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Are  you  ready  to  go?" 

"All  ready,"  Rouletta  agreed.  Together  they 
left  the  theater. 

Nothing  was  said  as  the  two  trod  the  snow- 
banked  streets;  not  until  they  halted  at  the  door 
of  the  Courteau  House  did  Rouletta  speak;  then 
she  said: 

'•'I  wouldn't  have  let  you  do  this,  only — I  have 
a  temper." 

"So  have  I,"  Pierce  said,  shortly.  "It's 
humiliating  to  own  up." 

"I  was  wrong.  I  have  no  right  to  hurt  that 
girl's  feelings." 

"Right?"  He  laughed  angrily.  "She  had  no 
right  to  make  a  scene." 

"Why  not?  She's  fighting  for  her  own,  isn't 
she?  She's  honest  about  it,  at  least."  Noting 
Pierce's  expression  of  surprise,  Rouletta  went  on: 
"You  expect  me  to  be  shocked,  but  I'm  not,  for 
I've  known  the  truth  in  a  general  way.  You 
think  I'm  going  to  preach.  Well,  I'm  not  going 
to  do  that,  either.  I've  lived  a  queer  life;  I've 
seen  women  like  Laure — in  fact,  I  was  raised  among 
them — and  nothing  they  do  surprises  me  very 
much.  But  I've  learned  a  good  many  lessons 
around  saloons  and  gambling-places.  One  is  this: 
never  cheat.  Father  taught  me  that.  He  gave 
everybody  a  square  deal,  including  himself.  It's 
a  good  thing  to  think  about — a  square  deal  all 
around,  even  to  yourself." 

"That  sounds  like  an  allopathic  sermon  of 
some  sort,"  said  Pierce,  "but  I  can't  see  just  how 

346 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

it  applies  to  me.  However,  I'll  think  it  over. 
You're  a  brick,  Miss  Kirby,  and  I'm.  sorry  if  you 
had  an  unpleasant  moment."  He  took  Rouletta's 
hand  and  held  it  while  he  stared  at  her  with  a 
frank,  contemplative  gaze.  ''You're  an  unusual 
person,  and  you're  about  the  nicest  girl  I've  met. 
I  want  you  to  like  me." 

As  he  walked  back  down-town  Pierce  pondered 
Rouletta's  words,  "a  square  deal  all  around,  even 
to  yourself."  They  were  a  trifle  puzzling.  Whom 
had  he  cheated?  Surely  not  Laure.  From  the 
very  first  he  had  protested  his  lack  of  serious  in- 
terest in  her,  and  their  subsequent  relations  were 
entirely  the  result  of  her  unceasing  efforts  to  ap- 
propriate him  to  herself.  He  had  resisted,  she 
had  persisted.  Nor  could  he  see  that  he  had 
cheated — in  other  words,  injured — himself.  This 
was  a  liberal  country;  its  code  was  free  and  it  took 
little  account  of  a  man's  private  conduct.  No- 
body seriously  blamed  him  for  his  affair  with 
Laure;  he  had  lost  no  standing  by  reason  of  it. 
It  was  only  a  part  of  the  big  adventure,  a  passing 
phase  of  his  development,  an  experience  such  as 
came  to  every  man.  Since  it  had  left  no  mark 
upon  him,  and  had  not  seriously  affected  Laure, 
the  score  was  even.  He  dismissed  Rouletta's 
words  as  of  little  consequence.  In  order,  how- 
ever, to  prevent  any  further  unpleasant  scenes  he 
determined  to  put  Laure  in  her  place,  once  for  all. 

Rouletta  went  to  her  room,  vaguely  disturbed 
at  her  own  emotions.  She  could  still  feel  the 
touch  of  Phillips'  hand,  she  could  still  feel  his 

23  347 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

gaze  fixed  earnestly,  meditatively,  upon  hers,  and 
she  was  amazed  to  discover  the  importance  he 
had  assumed  in  her  thoughts.  Importance,  that 
was  the  word.  He  was  a  very  real,  a  very  inter- 
esting, person,  and  there  was  some  inexplicable 
attraction  about  him  that  offset  his  faults  and  his 
failings,  however  grave.  For  one  thing,  he  was 
not  an  automaton,  like  the  other  men;  he  was  a 
living,  breathing  problem,  and  he  absorbed  Rou- 
letta's  attention. 

She  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of  her  bed,  staring 
at  the  wall,  when  the  Countess  Courteau  knocked 
at  her  door  and  entered.  The  women  had  become 
good  friends;  frequently  the  elder  one  stopped  to 
gossip.  The  Countess  flung  herself  into  a  chair, 
Tolled  and  lit  a  cigarette,  then  said: 

"Well,  I  see  you  and  Agnes  saved  the  bank- 
roll again." 

Rouletta  nodded.  "Agnes  is  an  awful  bluff.  I 
never  load  her.  But  of  course  nobody  knows  that. ' ' 

"You're  a  queer  youngster.  I've  never  known 
a  girl  quite  like  you.  Everybody  is  talking  about 
you." 

"Indeed?    Not  the  nice  people?" 

"Nice  people?"  The  Countess  lifted  her  brows. 
"You  mean  those  at  the  Barracks  and  up  on  the 
hill?  Yes,  they're  talking  about  you,  too." 

"  I  can  imagine  what  they  say."  Rouletta  drew 
her  brows  together  in  a  frown.  "No  doubt  they 
think  I'm  just  like  the  dance-hall  girls.  I've  seen 
a  few  of  them — at  a  distance.  They  avoid  me  as 

if  I  had  measles." 

348 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

"Naturally.     Do  you  care?" 

"Certainly  I  care.  I'd  like  to  be  one  of  them, 
not  a — a  specimen.  Wouldn't  you?" 

"Um-m,  perhaps.  I  dare  say  I  could  be  one 
of  them  if  it  weren't  for  Courteau.  People  forget 
things  quickly  in  a  new  country." 

"Why  did  you  take  him  back?  I'm  sure  you 
don't  care  for  him." 

"Not  in  the  least.  He's  the  sort  of  man  you 
can't  love  or  hate;  he's  a  nine-spot.  Just  the 
same,  he  protects  me  and — I  can't  help  being 
sorry  for  him." 

Rouletta  smiled.  "Fancy  you  needing  protec- 
tion and  him  giving — " 

"You  don't  understand.  He  protects  me  from 
myself.  I  mean  it.  I'm  as  unruly  as  the  aver- 
age woman  and  I  make  a  fool  of  myself  on  the 
slightest  provocation.  Henri  is  a  loafer,  a  good- 
for-nothing,  to  be  sure,  but,  nevertheless,  I  have 
resumed  his  support.  It  was  easier  than  refusing 
it.  I  help  broken  miners.  I  feed  hungry  dogs. 
Why  shouldn't  I  clothe  and  feed  a  helpless  hus- 
band? It's  a  perfectly  feminine,  illogical  thing 
to  do." 

"Other  people  don't  share  your  opinion  of  him. 
He  can  be  very  agreeable,  very  charming,  when 
he  tries." 

"Of  course.  That's  his  stock  in  trade;  that's 
his  excuse  for  being.  Women  axe  crazy  about 
him,  as  you  probably  know,  but — give  me  a  man 
the  men  like."  There  was  a  pause.  "So  you 
don't  enjoy  the  thing  you're  doing?" 

349 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

"I  hate  it!  I  hate  the  whole  atmosphere — the 
whole  underworld.  It's — unhealthy,  stifling." 

"What  has  happened?" 

Slowly,  hesitatingly,  Rouletta  told  of  her  en- 
counter with  Laure.  The  Countess  listened  si- 
lently. 

"It  was  an  unpleasant  shock,"  the  girl  con- 
cluded, "for  it  brought  me  back  to  my  surround- 
ings. It  lifted  the  curtain  and  showed  me  what's 
really  going  on.  It's  a  pity  Pierce  Phillips  is  en- 
tangled with  that  creature,  for  he's  a  nice  chap 
and  he's  got  it  in  him  to  do  big  things.  But  it 
wasn't  much  use  my  trying  to  tell  him  that  he 
was  cheating  himself.  I  don't  think  he  under- 
stood. I  feel  almost — well,  motherly  toward 
him." 

Hilda  nodded  gravely.  "Of  course  you  do. 
He  has  it." 

"Has  it?    What?" 

"The  call — the  appeal — the  same  thing  that 
lets  Henri  get  by." 

"Oh,  he's  nothing  like  the  Count!"  Rouletta 
protested,  quickly. 

The  elder  woman  did  not  argue  the  point. 
"Pierce  has  more  character  than  Henri,  but  a  man 
can  lose  even  that  in  a  gambling-house.  I  was 
very  fond  of  him — fonder  than  I  knew.  Yes,  it's 
a  fact.  I'm  jealous  of  Laure,  jealous  of  you — 

"Jealous?    Of  me?    You're  joking!" 

"Of  course.  Don't  take  me  seriously.  Never- 
theless, I  mean  it."  The  Countess  smiled  queer- 

ly  and  rose  to  her  feet.     "It's  improper  for  a  mar- 

350 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

ried  woman  to  joke  about  such  things,  even  a 
woman  married  to  a  no-good  count,  isn't  it?  And 
it's  foolish,  too.  Well,  I'm  going  to  do  something 
even  more  foolish — I'm  going  to  give  you  some 
advice.  Cut  out  that  young  man.  He  hasn't 
found  himself  yet;  he's  running  wild.  He's  light 
in  ballast  and  he's  rudderless.  If  he  straightens 
out  he'll  make  some  woman  very  happy;  otherwise 
— he'll  create  a  good  deal  of  havoc.  Believe  me, 
I  know  what  I'm  talking  about,  for  I  collided  with 
Henri  and — look  at  the  result!" 


CHAPTER  XXII 

PIERCE  PHILLIPS  possessed  the  average 
young  American's  capacities  for  good  or  evil. 
Had  he  fallen  among  healthy  surroundings  upon 
his  arrival  at  Dawson,  in  all  probability  he  would 
have  experienced  a  healthy  growth.  But,  blown 
by  the  winds  of  chance,  he  took  root  where  he 
dropped — in  the  low  grounds.  Since  he  possessed 
the  youthful  power  of  quick  and  vigorous  adapta- 
tion, he  assumed  a  color  to  match  his  environ- 
ment. Of  necessity  this  alteration  was  gradual; 
nevertheless,  it  was  real;  without  knowing  it  he 
suffered  a  steady  deterioration  of  moral  fiber  and 
a  progressive  change  in  ideals. 

His  new  life  was  easy;  hours  at  the  Rialto  were 
short  and  the  pay  was  high.  Inasmuch  as  the 
place  was  a  playground  where  cares  were  forgotten, 
there  was  a  wholly  artificial  atmosphere  of  gaiety 
and  improvidence  about  it.  When  patrons  won 
at  the  gambling-games,  they  promptly  squandered 
their  winnings  at  the  bar  and  in  the  theater; 
when  they  lost,  they  cheerfully  ignored  their  ill- 
fortune.  Even  the  gamblers  themselves  shared 
this  recklessness,  this  prodigality;  they  made 
much  money;  nevertheless,  they  were  usually 

352 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

broke.  Most  of  them  drank  quite  as  freely  as 
did  the  customers. 

This  was  not  a  temperance  country.  Although 
alcohol  was  not  considered  a  food,  it  was  none 
the  less  regarded  as  a  prime  essential  of  comfort 
and  well-being.  It  was  inevitable,  therefore,  that 
Pierce  Phillips,  a  youth  in  his  growing  age,  should 
adopt  a  good  deal  the  same  habits,  as  well  as  the 
same  spirit  and  outlook,  as  the  people  with  whom 
he  came  in  daily  contact. 

Vice  is  erroneously  considered  hideous;  it  is 
supposed  to  have  a  visage  so  repulsive  that  the 
simplest  stranger  will  shudder  at  sight  of  it  and 
turn  of  his  own  accord  to  more  attractive  Virtue. 
If  that  were  only  true!  More  often  than  not  it 
is  the  former  that  wears  a  smile  and  masquerades 
hi  agreeable  forms,  while  the  latter  repels.  This 
is  true  of  the  complex  life  of  the  city,  where  a 
man  has  landmarks  and  guide-posts  of  conduct  to 
go  by,  and  it  is  equally  true  of  the  less  complicated 
life  of  the  far  frontier  where  he  must  blaze  his  own 
trail.  Along  with  the  strength  and  vigor  and  inde- 
pendence derived  from  the  great  outdoors,  there 
comes  also  a  freedom  of  individual  conduct,  an 
impatience  at  irksome  restraints,  that  frequently 
offsets  any  benefits  that  accrue  from  such  an 
environment. 

So  it  was  in  Pierce's  case.  He  realized,  sub- 
consciously, that  he  was  changing,  had  changed; 
on  the  whole,  he  was  glad  of  it.  It  filled  him  with 
contemptuous  amusement,  for  instance,  to  look 
back  upon  his  old  puritanical  ideas.  They  seemed 

353 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

now  very  narrow,  very  immature,  very  impracti- 
cal, and  he  was  gratified  at  his  broader  vision. 
The  most  significant  alteration,  however,  entirely 
escaped  his  notice.  That  alteration  was  one  of 
outlook  rather  than  of  inlook.  Bit  by  bit  he  had 
come  to  regard  the  general  crowd— the  miners, 
merchants,  townspeople — as  outsiders,  and  him- 
self as  an  insider — one  of  the  wise,  clever,  ease- 
loving  class  which  subsisted  without  toil  and  for 
whom  a  freer  code  of  morals  existed.  Those 
outsiders  were  stupid,  hard-working;  they  were 
somehow  inferior.  He  and  his  kind  were  of  a 
higher,  more  advanced  order  of  intelligence ;  more- 
over, they  were  bound  together  by  the  ties  of  a 
common  purpose  and  understanding  and  there- 
fore enjoyed  privileges  denied  their  less  efficient 
brethren. 

If  jackals  were  able  to  reason,  doubtless  they 
would  justify  then*  existence  and  prove  their 
superiority  to  the  common  herd  by  some  such 
fatuous  argument. 

Pierce's  complacency  received  its  first  jolt  when 
he  discovered  that  he  had  lost  caste  in  the  eyes 
of  the  better  sort  of  people — people  such  as  he 
had  been  accustomed  to  associate  with  at  home. 
This  discovery  came  as  the  result  of  a  chance 
meeting  with  a  stranger,  and,  but  for  it,  he  prob- 
ably would  have  remained  unaware  of  the  truth, 
for  his  newly  made  friends  had  treated  him  with 
consideration  and  nothing  had  occurred  to  dis- 
turb his  complacency.  He  had  acquired  a  speak- 
ing acquaintance  with  many  of  the  best  citizens, 

354 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

including  the  Mounted  Police  and  even  the  higher 
Dominion  officials,  all  of  whom  came  to  the  Rialto. 
These  men  professed  a  genuine  liking  for  him,  and, 
inasmuch  as  his  time  was  pretty  full  and  there  was 
plenty  of  amusement  close  at  hand,  he  had  never 
stopped  to  think  that  the  side  of  Dawson  life 
which  he  saw  was  merely  the  under  side — that  a 
real  social  community  was  forming,  with  real 
homes  on  the  back  streets,  where  already  women 
of  the  better  sort  were  living.  Oblivious  of  these 
facts,  it  never  occurred  to  Pierce  to  wonder  why 
these  men  did  not  ask  him  to  their  cabins  or  why 
he  did  not  meet  their  families. 

He  had  long  since  become  a  night-hawk,  mainly 
through  a  growing  fondness  for  gambling,  and  he 
had  arrived  at  the  point  where  daylight  impressed 
him  as  an  artificial  and  unsatisfactory  method  of 
illumination.  Recently,  too,  he  nad  been  drink- 
ing more  than  was  good  for  him,  and  he  awoke 
finally  to  the  unwelcome  realization  that  he  was 
badly  in  need  of  fresh  air  and  outdoor  exercise. 

After  numerous  half-hearted  attempts,  he  arose 
one  day  about  noon;  then,  having  eaten  a  taste- 
less breakfast  and  strengthened  his  languid  deter- 
mination by  a  stiff  glass  of  "hootch,"  he  strolled 
out  of  town,  taking  the  first  random  trail  that 
offered  itself.  It  was  a  wood  trail,  leading  no- 
where in  particular,  a  fact  which  precisely  suited 
his  resentful  mood.  His  blood  moved  sluggishly, 
he  was  short  of  breath,  the  cold  was  bitter.  Be- 
fore long  he  decided  that  walking  was  a  profitless 
and  stultifying  occupation,  a  pastime  for  idiots 

355 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

and  solitaire-players;  nevertheless,  he  continued 
in  the  hope  of  deriving  some  benefit,  however  in- 
direct or  remote. 

It  was  a  still  afternoon.  A  silvery  brightness 
beyond  the  mountain  crests  far  to  the  southward 
showed  where  the  low  winter  sun  was  sweeping 
past  on  its  flat  arc.  The  sky  to  the  north  was 
empty,  colorless.  There  had  been  no  wind  for 
some  time,  and  now  the  firs  sagged  beneath  bur- 
dens of  white;  even  the  bare  birch  branches  car- 
ried evenly  balanced  inch-deep  layers  of  snow. 
Underfoot,  the  earth  was  smothered  in  a  feathery 
shroud  as  light,  as  clean  as  the  purest  swan's- 
down,  and  into  it  Pierce's  moccasins  sank  to  the 
ankles.  He  walked  as  silently  as  a  ghost.  Through 
this  queer,  breathless  hush  the  sounds  of  chopping, 
of  distant  voices,  of  an  occasional  dog  barking 
followed  him  as  he  went  deeper  into  the  woods. 

Time  was  when  merely  to  be  out  in  the  forest 
on  such  a  day  would  have  pleased  him,  but  gone 
entirely  was  that  pleasure,,  and  in  its  place  there 
came  now  an  irritation  at  the  physical  discomfort 
it  entailed.  He  soon  began  to  perspire  freely,  too 
freely;  nevertheless,  there  was  no  glow  to  his 
body;  he  could  think  only  of  easy -chairs  and 
warm  stoves.  He  wondered  what  ailed  him. 
Nothing  could  be  more  abhorrent  than  this,  he 
told  himself.  Health  was  a  valuable  thing,  no 
doubt,  and  he  agreed  that  no  price  was  too  high 
to  pay  for  it — no  price,  perhaps,  except  dull,  un- 
interesting exercise  of  this  sort.  He  was  upon 
the  point  of  turning  back  when  the  trail  suddenly 

356 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

broke  out  into  a  natural  clearing  and  he  saw  some- 
thing which  challenged  his  attention, 

To  the  left  of  the  path  rose  a  steep  bank,  and 
beyond  that  the  bare,  sloping  mountain-side.  In 
the  shelter  of  the  bank  the  snow  had  drifted  deep, 
but,  oddly  enough,  its  placid  surface  was  churned 
up,  as  if  from  an  explosion  or  some  desperate  con- 
flict that  had  been  lately  waged.  It  had  been 
tossed  up  and  thrown  down.  What  caused  him 
to  stare  was  the  fact  that  no  footprints  were  dis- 
cernible— nothing  except  queer,  wavering  parallel 
streaks  that  led  downward  from  the  snowy  tur- 
moil to  the  level  ground  below.  They  resembled 
the  tracks  of  some  oddly  fashioned  sled. 

Pierce  halted,  and  with  bent  head  was  studying 
the  phenomenon,  when  close  above  him  he  heard 
the  rush  of  a  swiftly  approaching  body;  he  looked 
up  just  in  time  to  behold  an  apparition  utterly 
unexpected,  utterly  astounding.  Swooping  di- 
rectly down  upon  him  with  incredible  velocity  was 
what  seemed  at  first  glance  to  be  a  bird-woman, 
a  valkyr  out  of  the  pages  of  Norse  mythology. 
Wingless  she  was,  yet  she  came  like  the  wind, 
and  at  the  very  instant  Pierce  raised  his  eyes  she 
took  the  air  almost  over  his  head — quite  as  if  he 
had  startled  her  into  an  upward  flight.  Upon 
her  feet  was  a  pair  of  long,  Norwegian  skees,  and 
upon  these  she  had  scudded  down  the  mountain- 
side; where  the  bank  dropped  away  she  had 
leaped,  and  now,  like  a  meteor,  she  soared  into 
space.  This  amazing  creature  was  clad  in  a  blue- 

and-white    toboggan    suit,    short    skirt,    sweater 

357 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

jacket,  and  knitted  cap.  As  she  hung  outlined 
against  the  wintry  sky  Pierce  caught  a  snap-shot 
glimpse  of  a  fair,  flushed,  youthful  face  set  in  a 
ludicrous  expression  of  open-mouthed  dismay  at 
sight  of  him.  He  heard,  too,  a  high-pitched  cry, 
half  of  warning,  half  of  fright;  the  next  instant 
there  was  a  mighty  upheaval  of  snow,  an  ex- 
plosion of  feathery  white,  as  the  human  projectile 
landed,  then  a  blur  of  blue-and-white  stripes  as 
it  went  rolling  down  the  declivity. 

"Good  Lord!"  Pierce  cried,  aghast;  then  he 
sped  after  the  apparition.  Only  for  the  evidence 
of  that  undignified  tumble,  he  would  have  doubted 
the  reality  of  this  flying  Venus  and  considered  her 
some  creature  of  his  imagination.  There  she  lay, 
however,  a  thing  of  flesh  and  blood,  bruised, 
broken,  helpless;  apprehensively  he  pictured  him- 
self staggering  back  to  town  with  her  in  his  arms. 

He  halted,  speechless,  when  the  girl  sat  up, 
shook  the  snow  out  of  her  hair,  gingerly  felt  one 
elbow,  then  the  other,  and  finally  burst  into  a 
peal  of  ringing  laughter.  The  face  she  lifted  to 
his,  now  that  it  wore  a  normal  expression,  was 
wholly  charming;  it  was,  in  fact,  about  the  fresh- 
est, the  cleanest,  the  healthiest  and  the  frankest 
countenance  he  had  ever  looked  into. 

"Glory  be!"  he  stammered.  "I  thought  you 
were — completely  spoiled." 

"I'm  badly  twisted,"  the  girl  managed  to  gasp, 
"but  I  guess  I'm  all  here.  Oh!  What  a  bump!" 

"You  scared  me.  I  never  dreamed — I  didn't 
hear  a  thing  until —  Well,  I  looked  up  and  there 

358 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

you  were.  The  sky  was  full  of  you.  Gee!  I 
thought  I'd  lost  my  mind.  Are  you  quite  sure 
you're  all  right?" 

"Oh,  I'll  be  black  and  blue  again,  but  I'm  used 
to  that.  That's  the  funniest  one  I've  had,  the 
very  funniest.  Why  don't  you  laugh?" 

"I'm — too  rattled,  I  suppose.  I'm  not  accus- 
tomed to  flying  girls.  Never  had  them  rain  down 
on  me  out  of  the  heavens." 

The  girl's  face  grew  sober.  "You're  entirely 
to  blame,"  she  cried,  angrily.  "I  was  getting  it 
beautifully  until  you  showed  up.  You  popped 
right  out  of  the  ground.  WTiat  are  you  doing  hi 
the  Queen's  Park,  anyhow?  You've  no  business 
at  the  royal  sports." 

"I  didn't  mean  to  trespass." 

"I  think  I'll  call  the  guards." 

"Call  the  court  physician  and  make  sure — " 

"Pshaw!  I'm  not  hurt."  Ignoring  his  ex- 
tended hand,  she  scrambled  to  her  feet  and 
brushed  herself  again.  Evidently  the  queenly 
anger  was  short-lived,  for  she  was  beaming  again, 
and  in  a  tone  that  was  boyishly  intim?te  she 
explained : 

"I'd  made  three  dandy  jumps  and  was  going 
higher  each  time,  but  the  sight  of  you  upset  me. 
Think  of  being  upset  by  a  perfectly  strange  man. 
Shows  lack  of  social  training,  doesn't  it?  It's  a 
wonder  I  didn't  break  a  skee." 

Pierce  glanced  apprehensively  at  the  bluff  over- 
head. "Hadn't  we  better  move  out  of  the  way?" 
he  inquired.  "If  the  royal  family  comes  dropping 

359 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

in,  we'll  be  ironed  out  like  a  couple  of  handker- 
chiefs. I  don't  want  to  feel  the  divine  right  of  the 
king,  or  his  left,  either." 

"  There  isn't  any  king — nor  any  royal  family. 
I'm  just  the  Queen  of  Pretend." 

"You're  skee-jumping,  alone?  Is  that  what  you 
mean?" 

The  girl  nodded. 

"  Isn't  that  a  dangerous  way  to  amuse  your- 
self? I  thought  skees  were — tricky." 

"Have  you  ever  ridden  them?"  the  girl  in- 
quired, quickly. 

"Never." 

"You  don't  know  what  fun  is.  Here — "  The 
speaker  stooped  and  detached  her  feet  from  the 
straps.  "Just  have  a  go  at  it."  Pierce  protested, 
but  she  insisted  in  a  business-like  way.  "They're 
long  ones — too  long  for  me.  They'll  just  suit 
you." 

"Really,  I  don't  care  to — " 

"Oh  yes,  you  do.    You  must." 

"You'll  be  sorry,"  Pierce  solemnly  warned  her. 
"When  my  feet  glance  off  and  leave  me  sticking 
up  in  the  snow  to  starve,  you'll—  Say!  I  can 
think  of  a  lot  of  things  I  want  to  do,  but  I  don't 
seem  to  find  skee-jumping  on  the  list." 

"You  needn't  jump  right  away."  Determina- 
tion was  in  the  girl's  tone;  there  was  a  dancing 
light  of  malice  in  her  eyes.  "You  can  practise  a 
bit.  Remember,  you  laughed  at  me." 

"Nothing  of  the  sort.  I  was  amazed,  not 
amused.  I  thought  I'd  flushed  a  very  magnificent 

360 


THE   WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

pheasant  with  blue-and-white  stripes,  and  I  was 
afraid  it  was  going  to  fly  away  before  I  got  a  good 
look  at  it.  Now,  then — "  He  slowly  finished 
buckling  the  runners  to  his  feet  and  looked  up  in- 
terrogatively. "  What  are  your  Majesty's  orders?" 

"Walk  around.     Slide  down  the  hill." 

"What  on?" 

The  girl  smothered  a  laugh  and  waved  him 
away.  She  looked  on  while  he  set  off  with  more 
or  less  caution.  WTien  he  managed  to  maintain 
an  upright  position  despite  the  antics  of  his  skees 
her  face  expressed  genuine  disappointment. 

"It's  not  so  hard  as  I  thought  it  would  be,"  he 
soon  announced,  triumphantly.  "A  little  awk- 
ward at  first,  but — "  he  cast  an  eye  up  at  the 
bank.  "You  never  know  what  you  can  do  until 
you  try." 

"You've  been  skeeing  before,"  she  accused  him, 
reproachfully. 

"Never." 

"Then  you  pick  it  up  wonderfully.  Try  a 
jump." 

Her  mocking  invitation  spurred  him  to  make 
the  effort,  so  he  removed  the  skees  and  waded 
a  short  distance  up  the  hill.  When  he  had  secured 
his  feet  in  position  for  a  second  time  he  called 
down: 

"I'm  going  to  let  go  and  trust  to  Providence. 
Look  out." 

"The  same  to  you,"  she  cried.  "You're  won- 
derful, but — men  can  do  anything,  can't  they?" 

There  was  nothing  graceful,  nothing  of  the  free 

361 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

abandon  of  the  practised  skee-runner  in  Pierce's 
attitude;  he  crouched  apelike,  with  his  muscles 
set  to  maintain  an  equilibrium,  and  this  much  he 
succeeded  in  doing — until  he  reached  the  jumping- 
off  place.  At  that  point,  however,  gravity,  which 
he  had  successfully  defied,  wreaked  vengeance 
upon  him;  it  suddenly  reached  forth  and  made 
him  its  vindictive  toy.  He  pawed,  he  fought,  he 
appeared  to  be  climbing  an  invisible  rope.  With 
a  mighty  flop  he  landed  flat  upon  his  back,  utter- 
ing a  loud  and  dismayed  grunt  as  his  breath  left 
him.  When  he  had  dug  himself  out  he  found  that 
the  girl,  too,  was  breathless.  She  was  rocking  in 
silent  ecstasy,  she  hugged  herself  gleefully,  and 
there  were  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"I'm — so — sorry!"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  thin, 
small  voice.  "Did  you — trip  over  something?" 

The  young  man  grinned.  "Not  at  all.  I  was 
afraid  of  a  sprained  ankle,  so  I  hit  on  my  head. 
We  meet  on  common  ground,  as  it  were." 

Once  again  he  climbed  the  grade,  once  again 
he  skidded  downward,  once  again  he  went  sprawl- 
ing. Nor  were  his  subsequent  attempts  more 
successful.  After  a  final  ignominious  failure  he  sat 
where  he  had  fetched  up  and  ruefully  took  stock 
of  the  damage  he  had  done  himself.  Seriously 
he  announced : 

"I  was  mistaken.  Women  are  entitled  to  vote 
— they're  entitled  to  anything.  I've  learned  some- 
thing else,  too — Mr.  Newton's  interesting  little 
theory  is  all  wrong;  falling  bodies  travel  sixteen 
miles,  not  sixteen  feet,  the  first  second." 

362 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

The  girl  demanded  her  skees,  and,  without 
rising,  Pierce  surrendered  them;  then  he  looked 
on  admiringly  while  she  attached  them  to  her 
feet  and  went  zigzagging  up  the  hill  to  a  point 
much  higher  than  the  one  from  which  he  had 
dared  to  venture.  She  made  a  very  pretty  pict- 
ure, he  acknowledged,  for  she  was  vivid  with 
youth  and  color.  She  was  lithe  and  strong  and 
confident,  too;  she  was  vibrant  with  the  healthy 
vigor  of  the  out-of-doors. 

She  descended  with  a  terrific  rush,  and  this 
time  she  took  the  air  with  grace  and  certainty. 
She  cleared  a  very  respectable  distance  and 
ricocheted  safely  down  the  landing-slope. 

Pierce  applauded  her  with  enthusiasm.  "Beau- 
tiful! My  sincere  congratulations,  O  Bounding 
Fawn!" 

"  That's  the  best  I've  done,"  she  crowed. 
"You  put  me  on  my  mettle.  Now  you  try  it 
again." 

Pierce  did  tiy  again;  he  tried  manfully,  but 
with  a  humiliating  lack  of  success.  He  was 
puffing  and  blowing,  his  face  was  wet  with  per- 
spiration, he  had  lost  all  count  of  tune,  when  his 
companion  finally  announced  it  was  tune  for  her 
to  be  going. 

"You're  not  very  fit,  are  you?"  said  she. 

Pierce  colored  uncomfortably.  "Not  very," 
he  confessed.  He  was  relieved  when  she  did  not 
ask  the  reason  for  his  lack  of  fitness.  Just  why 
he  experienced  such  relief  he  hardly  knew,  but 
suddenly  he  felt  no  great  pride  in  himself  nor  hi 

24  363 


THE    WINDS    OF   CHANCE 

the  life  that  had  brought  him  to  such  a  state  of 
flabbiness.  Nor  did  he  care  to  have  this  girl 
know  who  or  what  he  was.  Plainly  she  was  one 
of  those  "nice  people"  at  whom  Laure  and  the 
other  denizens  of  the  Rialto  were  wont  to  sneer 
with  open  contempt;  probably  that  was  why  he 
had  never  chanced  to  meet  her.  He  felt  cheated 
because  they  had  not  met,  for  she  was  the  sort 
of  girl  he  had  known  at  home,  the  sort  who  be- 
lieved in  things  and  in  whom  he  believed.  De- 
spite all  his  recently  acquired  wisdom,  in  this 
short  hour  she  had  made  him  over  into  a  boy 
again,  and  somehow  or  other  the  experience  was 
agreeable.  Never  had  he  seen  a  girl  so  cool,  so 
candid,  so  refreshingly  unconscious  and  un- 
affected as  this  one.  She  was  as  limpid  as  a  pool 
of  glacier  water;  her  placidity,  he  imagined,  had 
never  been  stirred,  and  in  that  fact  lay  much  of 
her  fascination. 

With  her  skees  slung  over  her  shoulder,  the  girl 
strode  along  beside  Phillips,  talking  freely  on 
various  topics,  but  with  no  disposition  to  chatter. 
Her  mind  was  alert,  inquisitive,  and  yet  she  had 
that  thoughtful  gravity  of  youth,  wisdom  coming 
to  life.  That  Pierce  had  made  a  good  impression 
upon  her  she  implied  at  parting  by  voicing  a 
sincere  hope  that  they  would  meet  again  very 
soon. 

"Perhaps  I'll  see  you  at  the  next  dance,"  she 
suggested. 

"Dance!"  The  word  struck  Pierce  unpleas- 
antly. 

364 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Saturday  night,  at  the  Barracks." 

"I'd  love  to  come,"  he  declared. 

"Do.  They're  loads  of  fun.  All  the  nice 
people  go." 

With  a  nod  and  a  smile  she  was  gone,  leaving 
him  to  realize  that  he  did  not  even  know  her 
name.  Well,  that  was  of  no  moment;  Dawson 
was  a  small  place,  and — Saturday  was  not  far  off. 
He  had  heard  about  those  official  parties  at  the 
Barracks  and  he  made  up  his  mind  to  secure  an 
invitation  sufficiently  formal  to  permit  him  to 
attend  the  very  next  one. 

His  opportunity  came  that  night  when  one  of 
the  younger  Mounted  Police  officers  paused  to 
exchange  greetings  with  him.  Lieutenant  Rock 
was  a  familiar  figure  on  the  streets  of  Dawson  and 
on  the  trails  near  by,  a  tall,  upstanding  Canadian 
with  a  record  for  unfailing  good  humor  and  re- 
lentless efficiency.  He  nodded  at  Pierce's  casual 
reference  to  the  coming  dance  at  Headquarters. 

"Great  sport,"  said  he.  "It's  about  the  only 
chance  we  fellows  have  to  play." 

When  no  invitation  to  share  in  the  treat  was 
forthcoming  Pierce  told  of  meeting  a  most  attrac- 
tive girl  that  afternoon,  and,  having  obtained  his 
hearer's  interest,  he  described  the  youthful  god- 
dess of  the  snows  with  more  than  necessary  en- 
thusiasm. He  became  aware  of  a  peculiar  ex- 
pression upon  Rock's  face. 

"Yes.  I  know  her  well,"  the  latter  said, 
quietly.  "D'you  mean  to  say  she  invited  you 

to  the  ball?" 

365 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"It  wasn't  exactly  an  invitation— 

"Oh!  I  see.  Well"— Rock  shook  his  head 
positively — "there's  nothing  doing,  old  man.  It 
isn't  your  kind  of  a  party.  Understand?" 

"I — don't  understand,"  Pierce  confessed  in 
genuine  surprise. 

The  officer  eyed  him  with  a  cool,  disconcerting 
directness.  "We  draw  the  lines  pretty  close — 
have  to  in  a  camp  like  this.  No  offense,  I  trust." 
With  a  smile  and  a  careless  wave  of  the  hand  he 
moved  on,  leaving  Pierce  to  stare  after  him  until 
he  was  swallowed  up  by  the  crowd  in  the  gambling- 
room. 

A  blow  in  the  face  would  not  have  amazed 
Pierce  Phillips  more,  nor  would  it  have  more 
greatly  angered  him.  So,  he  was  ostracized! 
These  men  who  treated  him  with  such  apparent 
good-fellowship  really  despised  him;  in  their  eyes 
he  was  a  renegade;  they  considered  him  unfit  to 
know  their  women.  It  was  incredible! 

This  was  the  first  deliberate  slight  the  young 
man  had  ever  received.  His  face  burned,  his  pride 
withered  under  it;  he  would  have  bitten  out  his 
tongue  rather  than  subject  himself  to  such  a  re- 
buff. WTio  was  Rock?  How  dared  he?  Rock 
knew  the  girl,  oh  yes!  But  he  refused  to  mention 
her  name — as  if  that  name  would  be  sullied  by 
his,  Pierce's,  use  of  it.  That  hurt  most  of  all; 
that  was  the  bitterest  pill.  Society!  Caste! 
On  the  Arctic  Circle!  It  was  to  laugh! 

But  Phillips  could  not  laugh.  He  could  more 
easily  have  cried,  or  cursed,  or  raved;  even  to 

366 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

pretend  to  laugh  off  such  an  affront  was  impos- 
sible. It  required  no  more  than  this  show  of 
opposition  to  fan  the  embers  of  his  flickering  desire 
into  full  flame,  and,  now  that  he  was  forbidden 
to  meet  that  flying  goddess,  it  seemed  to  him  that 
he  must  do  so  at  whatever  cost.  He'd  go  to  that 
dance,  he  decided,  in  spite  of  Rock;  he'd  go  un- 
bidden; he'd  force  his  way  in  if  needs  be. 

This  sudden  ardor  died,  however,  as  quickly 
as  it  had  been  born,  leaving  him  cold  with  appre- 
hension. What  would  happen  if  he  took  the  bit 
in  his  teeth?  Rock  knew  about  Laure — those 
detestable  redcoats  knew  pretty  much  every- 
thing that  went  on  beneath  the  surface  of  Dawson 
life — and  if  Pierce  ran  counter  to  the  fellow's 
warning  he  would  probably  speak  out.  Rock  was 
just  that  sort.  His  methods  were  direct  and 
forceful.  What  then?  Pierce  cringed  inwardly  at 
the  contemplation.  That  snow-girl  was  so  clean, 
so  decent,  so  radically  different  from  all  that 
Laure  stood  for,  that  he  shrank  from  associating 
them  together  even  in  his  thoughts. 

Well,  he  was  paying  the  fiddler,  and  the  price 
was  high.  Even  here  on  the  fringe  of  the  frontier 
society  exacted  penalty  for  the  breach  of  its  con- 
ventions. Pierce's  rebellion  at  this  discovery,  his 
resentment  at  the  whole  situation,  prevented  him 
from  properly  taking  the  lesson  to  heart.  The 
issue  was  clouded,  too,  by  a  wholly  natural  effort 
at  self-justification.  The  more  he  tried  this  latter, 
however,  the  angrier  he  became  and  the  more 

humiliating  seemed  his  situation. 

367 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

He  was  in  no  mood  to  calmly  withstand  another 
shock,  especially  when  that  shock  was  adminis- 
tered by  Joe  McCaskey,  of  all  persons;  neverthe- 
less, it  came  close  upon  the  heels  of  Rock's  insult. 

Pierce  had  not  seen  either  brother  since  their 
departure  for  Hunker  Creek,  therefore  Joe's  black 
visage  leering  through  the  window  of  the  cashier's 
cage  was  an  unwelcome  surprise. 

" Hello,  Phillips!  How  are  you  making  it?" 
the  man  inquired. 

"All  right," 

Despite  this  gruffness,  Joe's  grin  widened. 
There  was  nothing  of  pleasure  at  the  meeting, 
nor  of  friendliness  behind  it,  however.  On  the 
contrary,  it  masked  both  malice  and  triumph,  as 
was  plain  when  he  asked: 

"Did  you  hear  about  our  strike?" 

"What  strike?" 

"Why,  it's  all  over  town!  Frank  and  I  hit  pay 
in  our  first  shaft — three  feet  of  twenty-cent  dirt." 

"Really?"  Pierce  could  not  restrain  a  move- 
ment of  surprise. 

Joe  nodded  and  chuckled,  meanwhile  keeping 
his  malignant  gaze  focused  upon  the  younger 
man's  face.  "It's  big.  We  came  to  town  to 
buy  grub  and  a  dog-team  and  to  hire  a  crew  of 
hands.  We've  got  credit  at  the  A.  C.  Company 
up  to  fifty  thousand  dollars." 

There  was  a  brief  pause  which  Pierce  broke  by 
inquiring,  as  casually  as  he  could: 

"Did  Tom  and  Jerry  have  any  luck?" 

"Sure  thing!    They've  hit  it,  the  same  as  us. 

368 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

You  tossed  off  a  home-stake,  kid.  Don't  believe 
it,  eh?  Well,  here's  the  proof — coarse  gold  from 
Hunker."  With  an  ostentatious  flourish  the 
speaker  flung  down  a  half-filled  poke,  together 
with  a  bar  check.  "Cash  me  in,  and  don't  let 
any  of  it  stick  to  your  fingers." 

Pierce  was  impelled  to  hurl  the  gold  sack  at 
Joe's  head,  but  he  restrained  himself.  His  hands 
were  shaky,  however,  and  when  he  untied  the 
thongs  he  was  mortified  at  spilling  some  of  the 
precious  yellow  particles.  Mortification  changed 
to  anger  when  the  owner  cried,  sharply: 

"Hey!  Got  cashier's  ague,  have  you?  Just 
cut  out  the  sleight-of-hand!" 

Pierce  smothered  a  retort;  silently  he  brushed 
the  dust  back  into  the  blower  and  set  the  weights 
upon  his  scales.  But  McCaskey  ran  on  with  an 
insulting  attempt  at  banter: 

"I'm  onto  you  short-weighers.  Take  your  bit 
out  of  the  drunks;  I'm  sober." 

WTien  Pierce  had  retied  the  sack  and  returned 
it  he  looked  up  and  into  Joe's  face.  His  own  was 
white,  his  eyes  were  blazing. 

"Don't  pull  any  more  comedy  here,"  he  said, 
quietly.  "That  short-weight  joke  doesn't  go  at 
the  Rialto." 

"Oh,  it  don't?  Joke!"  McCaskey  snorted.  "I 
s'pose  it's  a  joke  to  spill  dust — when  you  can't 
get  away  with  it.  Well,  I've  spotted  a  lot  of 
crooked  cashiers  in  this  town." 

"No  doubt.    It  takes  a  thief  to  catch  a  thief." 

McCaskey     started.       His     sneer     vanished. 
369 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Thief!  Say—"  he  blustered,  angrily.  "D'you 
mean — "  The  clash,  brief  as  it  had  been,  had 
excited  attention.  Noting  the  fact  that  an  au- 
dience was  gathering,  the  speaker  lowered  his 
voice  and,  thrusting  his  black,  scowling  counte- 
nance closer  to  the  cage  opening,  he  said:  "You 
needn't  remind  me  of  anything.  I've  got  a  good 
memory.  Damn'  good!"  After  a  moment  he 
turned  his  back  and  moved  away. 

When  Pierce  went  off  shift  he  looked  up  Lars 
Anderson  and  received  confirmation  of  the  Hunker 
strike.  Lars  was  in  a  boisterous  mood  and  eager 
to  share  his  triumph. 

"I  knew  that  was  a  rich  piece  of  ground,"  he 
chuckled,  "and  I  knew  I  was  handing  those  boys 
a  good  thing.  But  a  fellow  owes  something  to  his 
friends,  doesn't  he?" 

"I  thought  you  said  it  was  low  grade?" 

"Low  grade!"  Big  Lars  threw  back  his  head 
and  laughed  loudly.  "I  never  said  nothing  of 
the  kind.  Me  knock  my  own  ground?  Why,  I'd 
have  banked  my  life  on  Hunker!" 

Here  was  luck,  Pierce  told  himself.  A  fortune 
had  been  handed  him  on  a  silver  platter,  and  he 
had  shoved  it  aside.  He  was  sick  with  regret; 
he  was  furious  with  himself  for  his  lack  of  wis- 
dom; he  hated  Laure  for  the  deception  she  had 
practised  upon  him.  The  waste  he  had  made 
of  this  opportunity  bred  in  him  a  feeling  of 
desperation. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  show  Laure  found  him 
braced  against  the  bar;  the  face  he  turned  upon 

370 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

her  was  cold,  repellent.  When  she  urged  him  to 
take  her  to  supper  he  shook  his  head. 

"  What's  the  matter?"  she  inquired. 

"Big  Lars  never  told  you  Hunker  was  low 
grade,"  he  declared. 

The  girl  flushed;  she  tossed  her  dark  head 
defiantly.  "Well,  what  of  it?" 

"Simply  this — Tom  and  Jerry  and  the  McCas- 
keys  have  struck  rich  pay." 

"Indeed?" 

"You  lied  to  me." 

Laure's  lips  parted  slowly  in  a  smile.  "What 
did  you  expect?  What  would  any  girl  do?"  She 
laid  a  caressing  hand  upon  his  arm.  "I  don't 
care  how  much  they  make  or  how  poor  you  are- 
Pierce  disengaged  her  grasp.  "I  care!"  he 
cried,  roughly.  "  I've  lost  my  big  chance.  They've 
made  their  piles  and  I'm — well,  look  at  me." 

"You  blame  me?" 

He  stared  at  her  for  a  moment.  "What's  the 
difference  whether  I  blame  you  or  myself?  I'm 
through.  I've  been  through  for  some  time,  but — 
this  is  curtain." 

"Pierce!" 

Impatiently  he  flung  her  off  and  strode  out  of 
the  theater. 

Laure  was  staring  blindly  after  him  when  Joe 
McCaskey  spoke  to  her.  "Have  a  dance?"  he 
inquired. 

She  undertook  to  answer,  but  her  lips  refused 
to  frame  any  words;  silently  she  shook  her  head. 

"What's  the  idea?  A  lovers' quarrel?"  McCas- 

371 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

key  eyed  her  curiously,  then  he  chuckled  mirthless- 
ly. "You  can  come  clean  with  me.  I  don't  like 
him  any  better  than  you  do." 

"Mind  your  own  business,"  stormed  the  girl 
in  a  sudden  fury. 

"That's  what  I'm  doing,  and  minding  it  good. 
I've  got  a  lot  of  business — with  that  rat."  Joe's 
sinister  black  eyes  held  Laure's  in  spite  of  her 
effort  to  avoid  them;  it  was  plain  that  he  wished 
to  say  more,  but  hesitated.  "Maybe  it  would 
pay  us  to  get  acquainted,"  he  finally  suggested. 
"Frank  and  me  and  the  Count  are  having  a  bottle 
of  wine  upstairs.  Better  join  us." 

"I  will,"  said  Laure,  after  a  moment.  To- 
gether they  mounted  the  stairs  to  the  gallery 
above. 


CHAPTER  XXIH 

"\A7AL)  w'at  l  to1'  you?"  'Poleon  Doret  ex~ 

VV  claimed,  cheerfully.  "  Me,  I'm  cut  off  for 
poor  man.  If  one  dose  El  Dorado  millionaire'  give 
me  his  pay-dump,  all  de  gold  disappear  biffore  I 
get  him  in  de  sluice-box.  Some  people  is  born 
Jonah."  Despite  this  melancholy  announcement 
'Poleon  was  far  from  depressed.  On  the  con- 
trary, he  beamed  like  a  boy  and  his  eyes  were 
sparkling  with  the  joy  of  again  beholding  his 
"sister." 

He  had  returned  from  the  hills  late  this  evening 
and  now  he  had  come  to  fetch  Rouletta  from  her 
work.  This  was  his  first  opportunity  for  a  word 
with  her  alone. 

The  girl  was  not  unmoved  by  his  tale  of  blighted 
expectations;  she  refused,  nevertheless,  to  accept 
it  as  conclusive.  "Nonsense!"  she  said,  briskly. 
"You  know  very  well  you  haven't  prospected  your 
claim  for  what  it's  worth.  You  haven't  had 
tune." 

"I  don'  got  to  prospec'  him,"  'Poleon  asserted. 
"Dat's  good  t'ing  'bout  dat  claim.  Some  Swede 
fellers  above  me  cross-cut  de  whole  dam'  creek 

an'  don'  fin'  so  much  as  one  color.    Sapre!    Dat's 

373 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

fonny  creek.  She  'ain't  got  no  gravel."  The 
speaker  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  heartily. 
"It's  fac'!  I  'scover  de  only  creek  on  all  de 
Yukon  wit'out  gravel.  Muck!  Twenty  feet  of 
solid  frozen  muck!  It's  lucky  I  stake  on  soch 
bum  place,  eh?  S'pose  all  winter  I  dig  an'  don' 
fin'  'im  out?" 

For  a  moment  Rouletta  remained  silent;  then 
she  said,  wearily: 

"Everything  is  all  wrong,  all  upside  down,  isn't 
it?  The  McCaskeys  struck  pay;  so  did  Tom  and 
Jerry.  But  you — why,  in  all  your  years  in  this 
country  you've  never  found  anything.  Where's 
the  justice — " 

"No,  no!  I  fin'  somet'ing  more  better  as  dem 
feller.  I  fin'  a  sister;  I  fin'  you.  By  Gar!  I 
don't  trade  you  for  t'ousan'  pay-streak!"  Lower- 
ing his  voice,  'Poleon  said,  earnestly,  "I  don'  know 
how  much  I  love  you,  ma  s&ur,  until  I  go  'way 
and  t'ink  'bout  it." 

Rouletta  smiled  mistily  and  touched  the  big 
fellow's  hand,  whereupon  he  continued: 

"All  dese  year  I  look  in  de  mos'  likely  spot  for 
gold,  an'  don'  fin'  him.  Wai,  I  mak'  change.  I 
don'  look  in  no  more  creek-bottom;  I'm  goin'  hit 
de  high  spot!" 

Reproachfully  the  girl  exclaimed,  "You  prom- 
ised me  to  cut  that  out." 

With  a  grin  the  woodsman  reassured  her:  "No, 
no!  I  mean  I'm  goin'  dig  on  top  de  mountains." 

"Not — really?  Why,  'Poleon,  gold  is  heavy! 
It  sinks.  It's  deep  down  in  the  creek-beds." 

374 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"It  sink,  sure  'nough,"  he  nodded,  "but  where 
it  sink  from,  eh?  I  don'  lak  livin'  in  low  place, 
anyhow — you  don'  see  not'in'.  Me,  I  mus'  have 
good  view." 

"What  are  you  driving  at?" 

"I  tell  you:  long  tarn  ago  I  know  old  miner. 
He's  forever  talk  'bout  high  bars,  old  reever- 
bed,  an'  soch  t'ing.  We  call  him  'High  Bar.' 
He  mak'  fonny  story  'bout  reever  dat  used  to 
was  on  top  de  mountain.  By  golly!  I  laugh  at 
him!  But  w'at  you  t'ink?  I'm  crossin'  dose  hill 
'bove  El  Dorado  an'  I  see  place  where  dose  miner 
is  shoot  dry  timber  down  into  de  gulch.  Dose 
log  have  dug  up  de  snow  an'  I  fin' — what?" 
Impressively  the  speaker  whispered  one  word, 
"Grarf" 

Much  to  his  disappointment,  Rouletta  remained 
impassive  in  the  face  of  this  startling  announce- 
ment. Vaguely  she  inquired:  "What  of  it? 
There's  gravel  everywhere.  What  you  want  is 
gold- 

"Mon  Dieu!"  Toleon  lifted  his  hands  in  de- 
spair. "You're  worse  as  cheechako.  WTiere 
gravel  is  dere  you  fin'  gold,  ain't  you?" 

"Why— not  always." 

With  a  shrug  the  woodsman  agreed.  "Of 
course,  not  always,  but — " 

"On  top  of  a  hill?" 

"De  tip  top." 

"How  perfectly  absurd!  How  could  gold  run 
uphill?" 

"I  don'  know,"  the  other  confessed.     "But,  for 

375 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

dat  matter,  how  she  run  downhill?  She  'ain't 
got  no  legs.  I  s'pose  de  book  hexplain  it  some- 
how. Wai !  I  stake  two  claim — one  for  you,  one 
for  me.  It's  dandy  place  for  cabin!  You  look 
forty  mile  from  dat  spot.  Mak'  you  feel  jus' 
lak  bird  on  top  of  high  tree.  Dere's  plenty  dry 
wood,  too,  an'  down  below  is  de  Forks — nice 
town  wit'  saloon  an'  eatin'-place.  You  can  hear 
de  choppin'  an'  de  win 'lass  creakin'  and  smell 
de  smoke.  It's  fine  place  for  singin'  songs  up 
dere." 

11  'Poleon!"  Rouletta  tried  to  look  her  sternest. 
"You're  a  great,  overgrown  boy.  You  can't  stick 
to  anything.  You're  merely  lonesome  and  you 
want  to  get  in  where  the  people  are." 

"Lonesome!  Don'  I  live  lak  bear  when  I'm 
trappin'?  Some  winter  I  don'  see  nobody  in  de 
least." 

"Probably  I  made  a  mistake  in  bringing  you 
down  here  to  Dawson,"  the  girl  continued,  medi- 
tatively. "You  were  doing  well  up  the  river,  and 
you  were  happy.  Here  you  spend  your  money; 
you  gamble,  you  drink — the  town  is  spoiling  you 
just  as  it  is  spoiling  the  others." 

"Um-m!  Mebbe  so,"  the  man  confessed. 
"Never  I  felt  lak  I  do  lately.  If  I  don'  come 
in  town  to-day  I  swell  up  an'  bus'.  I'm  full  of 
t'ing'  I  can't  say." 

"Go  to  work  somewhere." 

"For  wages?  Me?"  Doret  shook  his  head 
positively.  "I  try  him  once — cookin'  for  gang  of 
rough-neck' — but  I  mak'  joke  an'  I'm  fire'.  Dem 

376 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

feller  kick  'bout  my  grub  an'  it  mak'  me  mad, 
so  one  day  I  sharpen  all  de  table-knife.  I  put 
keen  edge  on  dem — lak  razor."  The  speaker 
showed  his  white  teeth  in  a  flashing  smile.  "Dat's 
meanes'  trick  ever  I  play.  Sapre!  Dem  feller 
cut  deir  mouth  so  fast  dey  mos'  die  of  bleedin'. 
No,  I  ain't  hired  man  for  nobody.  I  mus'  be 
free." 

"Very  well,"  Rouletta  sighed,  resignedly,  "I 
won't  scold  you,  for — I'm  too  glad  to  see  you." 
Affectionately  she  squeezed  his  arm,  whereupon 
he  beamed  again  in  the  frankest  delight.  "Now, 
then,  we'll  have  supper  and  you  can  take  me 
home." 

The  Rialto  was  crowded  with  its  usual  midnight 
throng;  there  was  the  hubbub  of  loud  voices  and 
the  ebb  and  flow  of  laughter.  From  midway  of 
the  gambling-hall  rose  the  noisy  exhortations  of 
some  amateur  gamester  who  was  breathing  upon 
his  dice  and  pleading  earnestly,  feelingly,  with 
"Little  Joe";  from  the  theater  issued  the  strains 
of  a  sentimental  ballad.  As  Rouletta  and  her 
companion  edged  their  way  toward  the  lunch- 
counter  in  the  next  room  they  were  intercepted 
by  the  Snowbird,  whose  nightly  labors  had  also 
ended. 

"All  aboard  for  the  big  eats,"  the  latter  an- 
nounced. "Mocha's  buttoned  up  in  a  stud  game 
where  he  dassen't  turn  his  head  to  spit.  He's 
good  for  all  night,  but  I'm  on  the  job." 

"I'm  having  supper  with  Toleon,"  Rouletta 

told  him. 

377 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

The  Snowbird  paused  in  dismay.  "Say!  You 
can't  run  out  on  a  pal,"  he  protested.  "You  got 
to  0.  K.  my  vittles  or  they  won't  harmonize." 

"But  'Poleon  has  just  come  in  from  the  creeks 
and  we've  a  lot  to  talk  about." 

"Won't  it  keep?  I  never  seen  talk  spoil  over- 
night." Wlien  Rouletta  smilingly  shook  her  head 
Mr.  Ryan  dangled  a  tempting  bait  before  her. 
"I  got  a  swell  fairy-story  for  you.  I  bet  you'd 
eat  it  up.  It's  like  this:  Once  upon  a  time  there 
was  a  beautiful  Princess  named  Rouletta  and  she 
lived  in  an  old  castle  all  covered  with  ivy.  It  was 
smothered  up  in  them  vines  till  you'd  vamp  right 
by  and  never  see  it.  Along  came  a  busted  Prince 
who  had  been  spendin'  his  vacation  and  some 
perfectly  good  ten-dollar  bills  in  the  next  county 
that  you  could  scarcely  tell  from  the  real  thing. 
He  was  takin'  it  afoot,  on  account  of  the  jailer's 
daughter,  who  had  slipped  him  a  file  along  with 
his  laundry,  but  she  hadn't  thought  to  put  in 
any  lunch.  See?  Well,  it's  a  story  of  how  this 
here  hungry  Prince  et  the  greens  off  of  the  castle 
and  discovered  the  sleepin'  Princess.  It's  a  knock- 
out. I  bet  you'd  like  it." 

"I'm  sure  I  would,"  Rouletta  agreed.  "Save 
it  for  to-morrow  night." 

The  Snowbird  was  reluctant  in  yielding;  he 
eyed  'Poleon  darkly,  and  there  was  both  resent- 
ment and  suspicion  in  his  somber  glance  when 
he  finally  turned  away. 

Not  until  Rouletta  and  her  companion  were 
perched  upon  their  high  stools  at  the  oilcloth- 

378 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

covered  lunch-counter  did  the  latter  speak;  then 
he  inquired,  with  a  frown: 

"Tell  me,  is  any  dese  feller  mak'  love  on  you, 
ma  sceur?" 

"Why,  no!  They're  perfectly  splendid,  like 
you.  Why  the  terrible  black  look?" 

"Gamblers!  Sure-t 'ing  guys!  Boosters!  Bah! 
Better  dey  lef  you  alone,  dat's  all.  You're  nice 
gal;  too  nice  for  dem  feller." 

Rouletta  smiled  mirthlessly;  there  was  an  ex- 
pression in  her  eyes  that  the  woodsman  had  never 
seen.  "'Too  nice!'  That's  almost  funny  when 
you  think  about  it.  What  sort  of  men  would  make 
love  to  me,  if  not  gamblers,  fellows  like  Ryan?" 

'Poleon  breathed  an  exclamation  of  astonish- 
ment at  this  assertion.  "W'at  you  sayin'?"  he 
cried.  "If  dat  loafer  mak'  fresh  talk  wit'  you  I 
—pull  him  in  two  piece  wit'  dese  fingers.  Dere's 
plenty  good  man.  I — ycu — "  He  paused  un- 
certainly; then  his  tone  changed  to  one  of  appeal. 
"You  won't  marry  wit'  nobody,  eh?  Promise  me 
dat." 

"That's  an  easy  promise,  under  the  circum- 
stances." 

"  Bien!  I  never  t'ink  'bout  you  gettin'  mar- 
ried. By  gosh!  dat's  fierce  t'ing,  for  sure!  W'at 
I'll  do  if — "  'Poleon  shook  his  massive  shoulders 
as  if  to  rid  himself  of  such  unwelcome  speculations. 

"No  danger!" 

Rouletta's  crooked  smile  did  not  go  unnoticed. 
'Poleon  studied  her  face  intently;    then  he  in- 
quired : 
25  379 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

"  Wat  ail'  you,  li'l  sister?" 

"Why— nothing." 

"Oh  yes!    I  got  eye  lak  fox.    You  seeck?" 

"The  idea!"  Miss  Kirby  pulled  herself  to- 
gether, but  there  was  such  genuine  concern  in  her 
companion's  face  that  her  chin  quivered.  She  felt 
the  need  of  saying  something  diverting;  then 
abruptly  she  turned  away. 

'Poleon's  big  hand  closed  over  hers;  in  a  voice 
too  low  for  any  but  her  ears  he  said:  "Somet'ing 
is  kill  de  song  in  your  heart,  ma  petite,  I  give  my 
life  for  mak'  you  happy.  Sometam  you  care  for 
tell  me,  mebbe  I  can  he'p  li'l  bit." 

The  girl  suddenly  bowed  her  head;  her  strug- 
gling tears  overflowed  reluctantly;  in  a  weary, 
heartsick  murmur  she  confessed: 

"I'm  the  most  miserable  girl  in  the  world.  I'm 
BO — unhappy." 

Some  instinct  of  delicacy  prompted  the  woods- 
man to  refrain  from  speaking.  In  the  same  list- 
less monotone  Rouletta  continued: 

"I've  always  been  a  lucky  gambler,  but — the 
cards  have  turned  against  me.  I've  been  play- 
ing my  own  stakes  and  I've  lost." 

"You  been  playing  de  bank?"  he  queried,  in 
some  bewilderment. 

"No,  a  gambler  never  plays  his  own  game.  He 
always  bucks  the  other  fellow's.  I've  been  play- 
ing— hearts." 

'Poleon's  grasp  upon  her  hand  tightened.  "I 
see,"  he  said.  "Wai,  bad  luck  is  boun'  to  change." 

In  Rouletta's  eyes,  when  she  looked  up,  was  a 
380 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

vision  of  some  glory-  far  beyond  the  woodsman's 
sight.  Her  lips  had  parted,  her  tears  had  dried. 
"I  wonder — "  she  breathed.  "Father's  luck  al- 
ways turned.  'Don't  weaken;  be  a  thorough- 
bred!' That's  what  he  used  to  tell  me.  He'd  be 
ashamed  of  me  now,  wouldn't  he?  I've  told  you 
my  troubles,  'Poleon,  because  you're  all  I  have 
left.  Forgive  me,  please,  big  brother." 

"Forgive?     Mon  Dieu!"  said  he. 

Their  midnight  meal  was  set  out;  to  them  it 
was  tasteless,  and  neither  one  made  more  than  a 
silent  pretense  of  eating  it.  They  were  absorbed 
in  their  own  thoughts  when  the  sound  of  high 
voices,  a  commotion  of  some  sort  at  the  front 
of  the  saloon,  attracted  their  attention.  Rou- 
letta's  ears  were  the  first  to  catch  it;  she  turned, 
then  uttered  a  breathless  exclamation.  The  next 
instant  she  had  did  down  from  her  perch  and  was 
hurrying  away.  'Poleon  strode  after  her;  he  was 
at  her  back  when  she  paused  on  the  outskirts  of 
a  group  which  had  assembled  near  the  cashier's 
cage. 

Pierce  Phillips  had  left  his  post  behind  the 
scales;  he,  Count  Courteau,  and  Ben  Miller,  the 
proprietor,  were  arguing  hotly.  Rock,  the  Police 
lieutenant,  was  listening  to  first  one  then  another. 
The  Count  was  deeply  intoxicated;  nevertheless, 
he  managed  to  carry  himself  with  something  of  an 
air,  and  at  the  moment  he  was  making  himself 
heard  with  considerable  vehemence. 

"I  have  been  drinking,  to  be  sure,"  he  ac- 
knowledged, "but  am  I  drunk?  No.  Damna- 

381 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

tion!  There  is  the  evidence."  In  his  hand  he 
was  holding  a  small  gold-sack,  and  this  he  shook 
defiantly  under  the  officer's  nose.  "Do  you  call 
that  eight  hundred  dollars?  I  ask  you.  Weigh 
it!  Weigh  it!" 

Rock  took  the  little  leather  bag  in  his  fingers; 
then  he  agreed.  ' '  It's  a  lot  short  of  eight  hundred, 
for  a  fact,  but— 

In  a  strong  voice  Phillips  cried:  "I  don't  know 
what  he  had.  That's  all  there  was  in  the  sack 
when  he  paid  his  check." 

The  Count  lurched  forward,  his  face  purple  with 
indignation.  "For  shame!"  he  cried.  "You 
thought  I  was  blind.  You  thought  I  was  like 
these  other — cattle.  But  I  know  to  a  dollar — 
He  turned  to  the  crowd.  "Here!  I  will  prove 
what  I  say.  McCaskey,  bear  me  out." 

With  a  show  of  some  reluctance  Frank,  the 
younger  and  the  smaller  of  the  two  brothers, 
nodded  to  the  Police  lieutenant.  ' '  He's  giving  you 
the  straight  goods.  He  had  eight  hundred  and 
something  on  him  when  he  went  up  to  the  cage." 

Rock  eyed  the  speaker  sharply.  "How  do  you 
know?"  said  he. 

"Joe  and  I  was  with  him  for  the  last  hour  and 
a  half.  Ain't  that  right,  Joe?"  Joe  verified  this 
statement.  "Understand,  this  ain't  any  of  our 
doings.  We  don't  want  to  mix  up  in  it,  but  the 
Count  had  a  thousand  dollars,  that  much  I'll 
swear  to.  He  lost  about  a  hundred  and  forty  up 
the  street  and  he  bought  two  rounds  of  drinks 
afterward.  I  ain't  quick  at  figures — " 

382 


Pierce  uttered  a  threatening  cry.  He  moved 
toward  the  speaker,  but  Rock  laid  a  hand  on  his 
arm  and  in  a  tone  of  authority  exclaimed:  "None 
of  that,  Phillips.  I'll  do  all  the  fighting." 

Ben  Miller,  who  likewise  had  bestirred  himself 
to  forestall  violence,  now  spoke  up.  "I'm  not 
boosting  for  the  house,"  said  he,  "but  I  want 
more  proof  than  this  kind  of  chatter.  Pierce  has 
been  "weighing  here  since  last  fall,  and  nobody 
ever  saw  him  go  south  with  a  color.  If  he  split  this 
poke  he  must  have  the  stuff  on  him.  Let  Rock 
search  you,  Pierce." 

Phillips  agreed  readily  enough  to  this  sugges- 
tion, and  assisted  the  officer's  search  of  his  pockets, 
a  procedure  which  yielded  nothing. 

"Dat  boy's  no  t'ief,"  Toleon  whispered  to 
Rouletta.  "M'sieu'  le  Comte  has  been  frisk' 
by  somebody."  The  girl  did  not  answer.  She 
was  intently  watching  the  little  drama  before 
her. 

During  the  search  Miller  forced  his  way  out  of 
the  ring  of  spectators,  unlocked  the  gate  of  the 
cashier's  cage,  and  passed  inside.  "We  keep  our 
takin's  in  one  pile,  and  I'll  lay  a  little  eight  to 
five  that  they'll  balance  up  with  the  checks  to  a 
pennyweight,"  said  he.  "Just  wait  till  I  add  up 
the  figgers  and  weigh — "  He  paused;  he  stooped; 
then  he  rose  with  something  he  had  picked  up 
from  the  floor  beneath  his  feet. 

"What  have  you  got,  Ben?"  It  was  Rock 
speaking.  , 

' '  Dam'  if  I  know !    There  it  is. "    The  proprietor 

383 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

shoved  a  clean,  new  moose-skin  gold-sack  through 
the  wicket. 

Rock  examined  the  bag,  then  he  lifted  an  in- 
quiring gaze  to  Pierce  Phillips.  There  was  a 
general  craning  of  necks,  a  shifting  of  feet,  a 
rustle  of  whispers. 

"Ah!"  mockingly  exclaimed  Courteau.  "I 
was  dreaming,  eh?  To  be  sure!"  He  laughed 
disagreeably. 

"Is  this  ' house '  money?"  inquired  the  redcoat. 

Miller  shook  his  head  in  some  bewilderment. 
"We  don't  keep  two  kitties.  I'll  weigh  it  and  see 
if  it  adds  up  with  the  Count's — " 

'Oh,  it  will  add  up!"  Phillips  declared,  his  face 
even  whiter  than  before.  "It's  a  plant,  so  of 
course  it  will  add  up." 

Defiantly  he  met  the  glances  that  were  fixed 
upon  him.  As  his  eyes  roved  over  the  faces 
turned  upon  him  he  became  conscious  for  the  first 
time  of  'Poleon's  and  Rouletta's  presence,  also 
that  Laure  had  somehow  appeared  upon  the 
scene.  The  latter  was  watching  him  with  a  pe- 
culiar expression  of  hostility  frozen  upon  her 
features;  her  dark  eyes  were  glowing,  she  was 
sneering  faintly.  Of  all  the  bystanders,  perhaps 
the  two  McCaskeys  seemed  the  least  inclined  to 
take  part  in  the  affair.  Both  brothers,  in  fact, 
appeared  desirous  of  effacing  themselves  as  effec- 
tively as  possible. 

But  Courteau's  indignation  grew,  and  in  a 
burst  of  excitement  he  disclaimed  the  guilt  im- 
plied in  Pierce's  words.  "So!  You  plead  in- 

384 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

nocence!  You  imply  that  I  robbed  myself,  eh? 
Well,  how  did  I  place  the  gold  yonder?  I  ask 
you?  Am  I  a  magician?"  He  waved  his  arms 
wildly,  then  in  a  tone  of  malevolence  he  cried: 
"This  is  not  the  first  time  you  have  been  accused 
of  theft.  I  have  heard  that  story  about  Sheep 
Camp." 

" Sheep  Camp,  yes!"  Phillips'  eyes  ignored 
the  speaker;  his  gaze  flew  to  Joe  McCaskey's  face 
and  to  him  he  directed  his  next  words :  ' '  The  whole 
thing  is  plain  enough  to  me.  You  tried  some- 
thing like  this  once  before,  Joe,  and  failed.  I 
suppose  your  back  is  well  enough  now  for  the  rest 
of  those  forty  lashes.  Well,  you'll  get  'em — " 

The  Count  came  promptly  to  the  rescue  of  his 
friend.  "Ho!  Again  you  lay  your  guilt  upon 
others.  Those  miners  at  Sheep  Camp  let  you 
off  easy.  Well,  a  pretty  woman  can  do  much  with 
a  miners'  meeting,  but  here  there  will  be  no  de- 
voted lady  to  the  rescue — no  skirt  to  hide  behind, 
for—" 

Courteau  got  no  further.  Ignoring  Rock's 
previous  admonition,  Pierce  knocked  the  fellow 
down  with  a  swift,  clean  blow.  He  would  have 
followed  up  his  attack  only  for  the  lieutenant,  who 
grappled  with  him. 

"Here!    Do  you  want  me  to  put  you  in  irons?" 

Courteau  raised  himself  with  difficulty;  he 
groped  for  the  bar  and  supported  himself  dizzily 
thereon,  snarling  from  the  pain.  With  his  free 
hand  he  felt  his  cheek  where  Pierce's  knuckles 

had  found  lodgment;  then,  as  a  fuller  realization 

385 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

of  the  indignity  his  privileged  person  had  suffered 
came  home  to  him,  he  burst  into  a  torrent  of 
frenzied  abuse. 

"Shut  up!"  the  officer  growled,  unsympatheti- 
cally.  "I  know  as  much  about  that  trial  at  Sheep 
Camp  as  you  do,  and  if  Phillips  hadn't  floored 
you  I  would.  That's  how  you  stand  with  me. 
You,  too!"  he  shot  at  the  McCaskeys.  "Let  me 
warn  you  if  this  is  a  frame-up  you'll  all  go  on  the 
woodpile  for  the  winter.  D'you  hear  me?  Of 
course,  if  you  want  to  press  this  charge  I'll  make 
the  arrest,  but  I'll  just  take  you  three  fellows 
along  so  you  can  do  some  swearing  before  the 
colonel,  where  it  '11  go  on  the  records." 

"Arrest?  But  certainly!"  screamed  the  Count. 
"The  fellow  is  a  thief,  a  pig.  He  struck  me. 
Me!  You  saw  him.  I — " 

"Sure,  I  saw  him!"  the  officer  grinned.  "I  was 
afraid  he'd  miss  you.  Stop  yelling  and  come 
along."  With  a  nod  that  included  the  McCaskeys 
as  well  as  the  titled  speaker  he  linked  arms  with 
Pierce  Phillips  and  led  the  way  out  into  the 
night. 

"W'at  fool  biznesse!"  Doret  indignantly  ex- 
claimed. "Dat  boy  is  hones'  as  church." 

He  looked  down  at  the  sound  of  Rouletta's 
voice;  then  he  started.  The  girl's  face  was 
strained  and  white  and  miserable;  her  hands 
were  clasped  over  her  bosom;  she  was  staring  hor- 
rified at  the  door  through  which  Phillips  had  been 
taken.  She  swayed  as  if  about  to  fall.  'Poleon 
half  dragged,  half  carried  her  out  into  the  street; 

386 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

with  his  arm  about  her  waist  he  helped  her  toward 
her  hotel. 

The  walk  was  a  silent  one,  for  Rouletta  was  in 
a  state  bordering  upon  collapse;  gradually  she 
regained  control  of  herself  and  stumbled  along 
beside  him. 

"They're  three  to  one,"  she  said,  finally.  "Oh, 
Toleon!  They'll  swear  it  on  him.  The  Police 
are  strict;  they'll  give  him  five  years.  I  heard 
the  colonel  say  so." 

"Dere's  been  good  deal  of  short  -  weighing 
but — "  Doret  shook  his  head.  "Nobody  goinr 
believe  Courteau.  And  McCaskey  is  dam'  t'ief." 

"If — only  I — could  help  him.  You'll  go  to 
him,  'Poleon,  won't  you?  Promise." 

Silently  the  Canadian  assented.  They  had 
reached  the  door  of  the  hotel  before  he  spoke 
again;  then  he  said  slowly,  quietly: 

"You  been  playin'  'hearts'  wit'  him,  ma  sceurf 
You — you  love  him?  Yes?" 

"Oh — yes!"  The  confession  came  in  a  miser- 
able gasp. 

"Bien!  I  never  s'pect  biff  ore.  Wai,  dat's  all 
right." 

"The  Police  are  swift  and  merciless,"  Rouletta 
persisted,  fearfully.  "They  hate  the  Front  Street 
crowd;  they'd  like  to  make  an  example." 

"Go  in  your  li'l  bed  an'  sleep,"  he  told  her, 
gently.  "Dis  t'ing  is  comin'  out  all  right. 
'Poleon  fix  it,  sure;  he's  dandy  fixer." 

For  some  tune  after  the  door  had  closed  upon 

Rouletta  the  big  fellow  stood  with  bent  head, 

387 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

staring  at  the  snow  beneath  his  feet.  The  cheer, 
the  sympathy,  had  left  his  face;  the  smile  had 
vanished  from  his  lips;  his  features  were  set  and 
stony.  With  an  effort  he  shook  himself,  then 
murmured: 

"Poor  li'l  bird!     Wai,  I  s'pose  now  I  got  to 
bus'  dat  jail!" 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

A  LTHOUGH  Toleon  had  spoken  with  confi- 
/*  dence,  he  found,  upon  arriving  at  Police 
Headquarters,  that  the  situation  was  by  no  means 
as  simple  as  it  had  appeared,  and  that  something 
more  than  a  mere  word  regarding  Phillips'  char- 
acter would  be  required  to  offset  the  very  definite 
accusation  against  him.  Courteau,  he  learned, 
had  pressed  his  charge  with  vigor,  and  although  the 
two  McCaskeys  had  maintained  their  outward 
show  of  reluctance  at  being  dragged  into  the  af- 
fair, they  had,  nevertheless,  substantiated  his 
statements  with  a  thoroughness  and  a  detail  that 
hinted  more  than  a  little  at  vindictiveness.  Pierce, 
of  course,  had  denied  his  guilt,  but  his  total  in- 
ability to  explain  how  the  gold-dust  in  dispute 
came  to  be  concealed  in  the  cashier's  cage,  to 
which  no  one  but  he  had  access,  had  left  the  Police 
no  alternative  except  to  hold  him.  By  the  time 
'Poleon  arrived  Pierce  had  been  locked  up  for 
the  night. 

Drawing  Rock  aside,  Doret  put  hi  an  earnest 
plea  for  his  young  friend.  The  lieutenant  an- 
swered him  with  some  impatience: 

"I  admit  it  looks  fishy,  but  what  is  there  to 

389 


C 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

do?  The  colonel  likes  Pierce,  as  we  all  do,  but 
— he  had  no  choice." 

"It's  dirty  frame-up." 

"I  imagine  he  believes  so.  And  yet — how  the 
deuce  did  that  sack  get  where  it  was?  I  was 
standing  alongside  the  McCaskeys  when  Cour- 
teau  went  up  to  pay  his  check,  and  I'm  sure  they 
had  no  part  in  it." 

"M'sieu'  le  Comte  is  sore,"  Toleon  asserted. 
Me,  I  savvy  plenty.  Wai,  how  we  goin'  get 
dat  boy  from  out  of  jail,  eh?  By  Gar!  I  bet  I 
don'  sleep  none  if  I'm  lock  up." 

"Get  bail  for  him." 

"Toleon  was  frankly  puzzled  at  this  suggestion, 
but  when  its  nature  had  been  explained  his  face 
lit  up. 

"Ho!  Dat's  nice  arrangements,  for  sure. 
Come!  I  fix  it  now." 

"Have  you  got  enough  money?" 

"I  got  'bout  t'irty  dollar,  but  dat  ain't  mak' 
no  differ.  I  go  to  workin'  somewhere.  Me,  I'm 
good  for  anyt'ing." 

"That  won't  do,"  Rock  smiled.  "You  don't 
understand."  Laboriously  he  made  more  plain 
the  mysteries  of  court  procedure,  whereupon  his 
hearer  expressed  the  frankest  astonishment. 

"Sacrt!"  the  latter  exclaimed.  "What  for  you 
say  two,  free  t'ousan'  dollar?  Courteau  'ain't 
lose  but  six  hundred,  an'  he's  got  it  back.  No! 
I'm  t'inkin'  you  Policemans  is  got  good  sense, 
but  I  lak  better  a  miners'  meetin'.  Us  'sour- 
dough' mak'  better  law  as  dem  feller  at  Ottawa." 

390 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"  Morris  Best  was  willing  to  go  his  bail,"  Rock 
informed  him,  "but  Miller  wouldn't  allow  it. 
Ben  is  sore  at  having  the  Rialto  implicated — 
there's  been  so  much  short-weighing  going  on. 
Understand?" 

Toleon  wagged  his  head  in  bewilderment.  "I 
don'  savvy  dis  new  kin'  of  law  you  feller  is  bring 
in  de  country.  S'pose  I  say,  'M'sieu'  Jodge,  I 
know  dis  boy  long  tarn;  he  don'  steal  dat  gold.' 
De  Jodge  he  say,  'Doret,  how  much  money  you 
got?  T'ousand  dollar?'  I  say,  'Sure!  I  got 
'bout  t'ousand  dollar.'  Den  he  tell  me,  'Wai, 
dat  ain't  'nough.  Mebbe  so  you  better  gimme 
two  t'ousan'  dollar  biffore  I  b'lieve  you.'  Bien! 
I  go  down-town  an'  win  'noder  t'ousan'  on  de 
high  card,  or  mebbe  so  I  stick  up  some  feller,  den 
I  come  back  and  m'sieu'  le  jodge  he  say:  'Dat's 
fine!  Now  we  let  Phillips  go  home.  He  don' 
steal  not 'in'.'  W'at  I  t'ink  of  dem  proceedin's? 
Eh?  I  t'ink  de  jodge  is  dam'  grafter!" 

Rock  laughed  heartily.  "  Don't  let  Colonel 
Cavendish  hear  you,"  he  cautioned.  "Seriously 
now,  he'd  let  Pierce  go  if  he  could;  he  told  me  so. 
He'll  undoubtedly  allow  him  the  freedom  of  the 
Barracks,  so  he'll  really  be  on  parole  until  his 
trial." 

"Trial?  You  goin'  try  him  again?"  The 
woodsman  could  make  little  of  the  affair.  "If 
you  try  him  two  tarn,  dose  crook  is  mak'  t'ief  of 
Pierce  for  sure.  One  trial  is  plenty.  I  s'pose 
mebbe  I  better  kill  dem  feller  off  an'  settle  dis 
t'ing." 

391 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

"Don't  talk  like  that/'  Rock  told  him.  "I'm 
not  saying  they  don't  need  killing,  but — nobody 
gets  away  with  that  stuff  nowadays." 

"No?"  'Poleon  was  interested  and  a  trifle  de- 
fiant. "For  why?  You  never  catch  me,  M'sieu'. 
Nobody  is  able  for  doin'  dat.  I'm  good  traveler." 

Rock  eyed  the  stalwart  speaker  meditatively. 
"I'd  hate  to  take  your  trail,  that's  a  fact,  but 
I'd  have  to  do  it.  However,  that  would  be  a 
poor  way  to  help  Pierce.  If  he's  really  innocent, 
Courteau  will  have  a  hard  job  to  convict  him.  I 
suggest  that  you  let  matters  rest  as  they  are  for 
a  day  or  so.  We'll  treat  the  kid  all  right." 

On  the  way  to  her  room  Rouletta  met  the 
Countess  Courteau,  and  in  a  few  words  made 
known  the  facts  of  Pierce's  arrest.  The  elder 
woman  listened  in  astonishment. 

"Arrested?  For  theft?  Absurd!  Who  made 
the  charge?" 

"Count  Courteau." 

"  Courteau f  Where  did  he  get  a  thousand  dol- 
lars?" The  speaker's  face  was  set  in  an  expression 
of  utter  incredulity. 

"I  don't  know.  It's  all  too  wretched,  too  ter- 
rible— "  Rouletta's  voice  broke;  she  hid  her  face  in 
her  hands.  For  a  moment  there  was  silence;  then 
the  elder  woman  exclaimed,  harshly,  peremptorily : 

"Tell  me  everything.  Quick!  There's  a  rea- 
son why  I  must  know  all  about  it." 

Drawing  Rouletta  into  her  room,  she  forced  her 
into  a  chair,  then  stood  over  her  while  the  latter 
repeated  the  story  in  greater  detail. 

392 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Sol  That's  it!"  the  Countess  cried,  at  last. 
"The  McCaskeys  backed  him  up.  Of  course! 
And  he  referred  to  Sheep  Camp — to  me.  He's 
the  sort  to  do  a  thing  like  that.  God!  What  a 
dog!"  After  a  time  she  went  on:  "I'm  sorry 
Pierce  struck  him;  he'll  never  get  over  that  and 
it  will  make  it  harder — much  harder." 

"You  think  it  can  be  straightened  out?"  Rou- 
letta's  face  was  strained;  her  eyes  searched  the 
former  speaker's  face  eagerly. 

"It's  got  to  be  straightened  out.  It  would  be 
monstrous  to  allow—  The  Countess  shook  her 
head,  then,  with  a  mirthless  smile,  exclaimed: 
"But  what  a  situation!  Henri,  of  all  persons! 
It's  pleasant  for  me,  isn't  it?  Well,  somebody 
planted  that  poke — probably  one  of  the  McCas- 
keys. They'd  like  to  railroad  the  boy.  Joe  is 
as  vindictive  as  an  Indian  and  he  blames  Pierce 
and  me  for  his  brother's  death." 

In  desperation  Rouletta  cried:  "I'll  pay  the 
Count  back  his  money — I'll  double  it." 

1 '  His  money?"  sneered  the  woman.  ' '  He  hasn't 
a  cent,  except  what  I  give  him.  That  was  McCas- 
key's  dust."  She  stared  at  the  apprehensive 
figure  crouched  upon  the  edge  of  the  chair,  and 
slowly  her  expression  softened.  In  a  gentler  tone 
she  said,  "I  see  you  didn't  take  my  advice;  you 
didn't  heed  my  warning." 

"Who  ever  heeds  a  warning  like  yours?" 

"Does  Pierce  know  that  you — feel  this  way 
about  him?" 

Rouletta  sighed  wearily.     "I  didn't  know  my- 

393 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

self,  although  I  more  than  half  suspected.  I 
didn't  permit  myself  to  think,  it  made  me  so 
unhappy." 

"It  ought  to  satisfy  me  somewhat  to  learn  that 
he  doesn't  care  for  you,  but — somehow  it  doesn't. 
He  didn't  care  for  me,  either.  But  I  cared  for 
him.  I  love  him  now,  just  as  you  love  him — 
better,  probably.  Oh,  why  conceal  it?  I've 
spent  a  good  many  black  hours  thinking  about  it 
and  trying  to  fight  it.  Mind  you,  it  wasn't  his 
fault;  it  was  just  fate.  There  are  some  fellows 
who  go  smiling  and  singing  along  through  life — 
clean,  decent  fellows,  too — attending  to  their  own 
affairs  in  a  perfectly  proper  manner,  but  leaving 
a  trail  of  havoc  behind  them.  It  isn't  so  true  of 
women — they're  usually  flirts — their  smiles  don't 
last  and  the  echo  of  their  songs  dies  out.  He's 
perfectly  impossible  for  me.  I  wouldn't  marry 
him  if  I  were  free  and  if  he  asked  me.  But  that 
has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the  case." 

"I  had  no  idea!"  Rouletta  said.  "I  suppose 
there's  no  hope  for  me,  either.  I'm  not  his  kind. 
He's  told  me  about  his  life,  his  people.  I  wouldn't 
fit  in." 

"It  isn't  that — people  are  adaptable,  they  make 
themselves  fit,  for  a  while  at  least — it's  a  ques- 
tion of  identities.  As  much  a  matter  of  family 
histories  as  anything  else.  You're  his  antithesis 
in  every  respect  and — like  should  mate  with  like. 
Now  then,  about  this  other  trouble.  I  must  work 
in  my  own  way,  and  I  see  but  one.  I'll  have  to 

pay  high,  but — "     The  speaker  lifted  her  shoul- 

394 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

ders  as  if  a  cold  wind  had  chilled  her.  "I've  paid 
high,  up  to  date,  and  I  suppose  I  shall  to  the 
end.  Meanwhile,  it  you  can  get  him  out  of  jail, 
do  so  by  all  means.  I  can't.  I  daren't  even  try." 

When,  at  a  late  hour,  Count  Henri  Courteau 
entered  the  establishment  that  bore  his  name  he 
was  both  surprised  and  angered  to  find  his  wife 
still  awake.  The  guests  of  the  hotel  were  asleep, 
the  place  was  quiet,  but  the  Countess  was  read- 
ing in  an  easy-chair  beside  the  office  stove.  She 
was  in  ne'glige'e,  her  feet  were  resting  upon  the 
stove  fender.  She  turned  her  head  to  say: 

"Well,  Henri,  you  look  better  than  I  thought 
you  would." 

The  Count  passed  a  caressing  hand  over  his 
swollen  cheek  and  his  discolored  left  eye.  "You 
heard  about  the  fight,  eh?"  he  inquired,  thickly. 

"Yes— if  you'd  call  it  that." 

Courteau  grimaced,  but  there  was  a  ring  of 
triumph  and  of  satisfaction  in  his  voice  when  he 
cried: 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  that  fellow?  It 
was  like  him,  wasn't  it,  after  I  had  caught  him 
red-handed?" 

"To  punch  you?  Quite  like  him,"  agreed  the 
woman. 

"Pig!  To  strike  a  defenseless  man.  Without 
warning,  too.  It  shows  his  breeding.  And  now" 
— the  speaker  sneered  openly — "I  suppose  you 
will  bail  hun  out." 

"Indeed!    Why  should  I?" 

26  395 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

"Oh,  don't  pretend  innocence!"  the  Count 
stormed.  "Don't  act  so  unconcerned.  What's 
your  game,  anyhow?  Whatever  it  is,  that  fellow 
will  cut  cord-wood  for  the  rest  of  the  winter  where 
the  whole  of  Dawson  can  see  him  and  say,  'Be- 
hold the  lover  of  the  Countess  Courteau!'" 

"There's  some  mistake.    He  isn't  a  thief." 

"No?"  The  husband  swayed  a  few  steps 
closer,  his  face  working  disagreeably.  "Already 
it  is  proved.  He  is  exposed,  ruined.  Bah!  He 
made  of  me  a  laughing-stock.  Well,  he  shall  suf- 
fer !  A  born  thief,  that's  what  he  is.  What  have 
you  to  say?" 

"Why — nothing.  I  hoped  it  was  a  mistake, 
that's  all." 

"You  hoped!  To  be  sure!"  sneered  the  speaker. 
"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?"  WTien 
his  wife  said  nothing  the  man  muttered,  in  some 
astonishment:  "I  didn't  expect  you  to  take  it  so 
quietly.  I  was  prepared  for  a  scene.  What  ails 
you?" 

Hilda  laid  down  her  book.  She  turned  to  face 
her  accuser.  "Why  should  I  make  a  scene?" 
she  asked.  "I've  had  nothing  to  do  with  Phillips 
since  we  parted  company  at  White  Horse.  I've 
scarcely  spoken  to  him,  and  you  know  it." 

"You  don't  deny  there  was  something  between 
you?" 

The  woman  shrugged  non-committally,  her  lips 
parted  in  a  faint,  cheerless  smile.  "I  deny  noth- 
ing. I  admit  nothing." 

Although  Courteau's  brain  was  fogged,  he  ex- 

396 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

perienced  a  growing  surprise  at  the  self-possession 
with  which  his  wife  had  taken  tliis  blow  which  he 
had  aimed  as  much  at  her  as  at  Pierce  Phillips; 
lie  studied  her  intently,  a  mingling  of  suspicion,  of 
anger,  and  of  admiration  in  his  uncertain  gaze. 
He  saw,  for  one  thing,  that  his  effort  to  reach  her 
had  failed  and  that  she  remained  completely  the 
mistress  of  herself.  She  reclined  at  ease  in  her 
comfortable  chair,  quite  unstirred  by  his  derision, 
his  jubilation.  He  became  aware,  also,  of  the 
fact  that  she  presented  an  extremely  attractive 
picture,  for  the  soft  white  fur  of  the  loose  robe 
she  wore  exposed  an  alluring  glimpse  of  snowy 
throat  and  bosom;  one  wide  sleeve  had  fallen 
back,  showing  a  smoothly  rounded  arm;  her  silken 
ankles,  lifted  to  the  cozy  warmth  of  the  stove, 
were  small  and  trim;  her  feet  were  shod  in  neat 
high-heeled  slippers.  The  Count  admired  neatly 
shod  ladies. 

"You're  a  very  smart-looking  woman,"  he 
cried,  with  some  reluctance.  "You're  beautiful, 
Hilda.  I  don't  blame  the  young  fool  for  falling. 
But  you're  too  old,  too  wise — " 

Hilda  nodded.  "You've  said  it.  Too  old  and 
too  wise.  If  I'd  been  as  young  and  as  silly  as 
when  I  met  you — who  knows?  He's  a  handsome 
boy." 

Again  the  husband's  anger  blazed  up. 

"But  I'm  not  young  and  silly,"  his  wife  inter- 
rupted. 

"Just  the  same,  you  played  me  a  rotten  trick," 
the  Count  exploded.  "And  I  don't  forget.  As 

397 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

for  him" — he  swore  savagely — " he'll  learn  that 
it's  not  safe  to  humiliate  me,  to  rob  me  of  any 
woman — wife  or  mistress.  You've  never  told 
me  the  half;  I've  had  to  guess.  But  I'm  patient, 
I  know  how  to  wait  and  to  use  my  eyes  and  my 
ears.  Then  to  strike  me!  Perdition!  I'll  fol- 
low this  through,  never  fear." 

"How  did  you  get  a  thousand  dollars,  Henri?" 
the  wife  inquired,  curiously. 

Courteau's  gaze  shifted.  "What  difference?  I 
won  it  on  a  turn  at  the  North  Star;  it  was  given 
to  me;  I  found  it.  Anyhow,  I  had  it.  It  was  a 
good  night  for  me;  yes,  a  very  good  night.  I  had 
my  revenge  and  I  showed  my  friends  that  I'm  a 
man  to  be  reckoned  with." 

In  a  tone  unexpectedly  humble  the  woman 
said:  "I  had  no  idea  you  cared  very  much  what 
I  did  or  how  I  carried  on.  After  all,  it  was  your 
own  fault." 

"Mine?"  The  Count  laughed  in  derision  and 
astonishment. 

"Exactly!  If  you  had  taken  the  trouble  to 
show  me  that  you  cared — well,  things  might  have 
been  different.  However — "  The  Countess  rose, 
and  with  another  change  of  voice  and  manner 
said:  "Come  along.  Let's  do  something  for 
your  eye." 

The  Count  stared  at  her  in  bewilderment,  then 
he  tunied  away,  crying:  "Bah!  I  want  no  help." 
At  the  door  he  paused  to  jeer  once  more.  "Pierce 
Phillips!  A  common  thief,  a  despicable  creature 
who  robs  the  very  man  he  had  most  deeply  in- 

398 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

jured.  I've  exposed  him  to  the  law  and  to  public 
scorn.  Sleep  on  that,  my  dear.  Dream  on  it." 
With  a  chuckle  he  traced  an  uncertain  course  to 
the  stairs,  mounted  them  to  his  room,  and  slammed 
his  door  behind  him. 

He  had  undressed  and  flung  himself  into  bed, 
but  he  had  not  yet  fallen  asleep  when  the  door 
reopened  and  his  wife  entered,  bearing  in  her  hand 
a  steaming  pitcher  of  hot  water.  This  she  de- 
posited; into  it  she  dipped  a  folded  towel. 

"I'm  sorry  you're  disfigured,  Henri,"  she  told 
him,  quietly. 

Despite  his  surly  protests,  she  bathed  and 
soothed  his  swollen  features  until  he  dropped 
asleep,  after  which  she  stole  out  and  down  to  her 
room  on  the  floor  below.  There,  however,  she 
paused,  staring  back  up  the  empty  stairway,  a 
look  of  deepest  loathing  upon  her  face.  Slowly, 
carefully,  she  wiped  her  hands  as  if  they  were  un- 
clean; her  lips  curled  into  a  mirthless  smile;  then 
she  passed  into  her  chamber  and  turned  the  key 
behind  her. 

Rock  had  spoken  truly  hi  assuring  'Poleon  that 
Pierce  Phillips'  lot  would  be  made  as  easy  for 
him  as  possible.  That  is  what  happened.  No  one 
at  the  Barracks  appeared  to  take  much  stock  in 
Courteau's  charge,  and  even  Colonel  Cavendish, 
the  commandant,  took  the  trouble  to  send  for  him 
early  the  next  morning  and  to  ask  for  the  whole 
story  in  detail.  When  Pierce  had  given  it  the 

officer  nodded.     "It  looks  very  much  like  a  spite 

399 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

case.  I  couldn't  imagine  your  doing  such  a 
thing,  my  boy." 

"It  is  a  spite  case,  nothing  else." 

"Courteau  is  a  rotter,  and  your  affair  with  his 
wife  explains  his  animosity." 

"It  wasn't  exactly  an  'affair/  sir."  Pierce  col- 
ored slightly  as  he  went  on  to  explain.  "You  see, 
I  was  perfectly  honest.  I  didn't  know  there  was 
a  count,  and  when  I  learned  there  was  I  up  stakes 
and  ended  it.  She  was  the  first  woman  who  ever — 
Well,  sir,  I  admired  her  tremendously.  She — im- 
pressed me  wonderfully." 

"No  doubt,"  the  colonel  smiled.  "She's  an 
impressive  person.  Are  you  still  fond  of  her?" 

"Not  in  the  same  way." 

"What  about  this  girl  Laure?" 

This  time  Pierce  flushed  uncomfortably.  "I've 
no  excuses  to  offer  there,  sir — no  explanations. 
We — just  drifted  together.  It  was  a  long  trip 
and  the  Yukon  does  that  sort  of  thing.  Force 
of  circumstance  as  much  as  anything,  I  pre- 
sume. I've  been  trying  to  break  away,  but — "  he 
shrugged. 

"You've  been  a  pretty  foolish  lad."  Pierce  re- 
mained silent  at  this  accusation,  and  the  colonel 
went  on:  "However,  I  didn't  bring  you  here  to 
lecture  you.  The  Royal  Mounted  have  other 
things  to  think  about  than  young  wasters  who 
throw  themselves  away.  After  all,  it's  a  free-and- 
easy  country  and  if  you  want  to  play  ducks  and 
drakes  it's  your  own  business.  I  merely  want 
you  to  realize  that  you've  put  yourself  in  a  bad 

400 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

light  and  that  you  don't  come  into  court  with 
clean  hands." 

"I  understand.  I  put  in  a  wakeful  night  think- 
ing about  it.  It's  the  first  time  in  a  long  while 
that  I've  done  any  serious  thinking." 

"Well,  don't  be  discouraged.  A  little  thinking 
will  benefit  you.  Now  then,  I'm  going  to  put 
Rock  at  work  on  your  case,  and  meanwhile  you 
may  have  the  liberty  of  the  Barracks.  You're  a 
gentleman,  and  I  trust  you  to  act  as  one." 

Pierce  was  only  too  grateful  for  this  courtesy, 
and  to  realize  that  he  retained  the  respect  of  this 
middle-aged,  soldierly  officer,  whom  he  had  long 
admired,  filled  him  with  deep  relief.  He  gave  his 
promise  readily  enough. 

Later  in  the  day  Broad  and  Bridges  came  in 
to  see  him,  and  their  indignation  at  the  outrage, 
their  positive  assertion  that  it  was  nothing  less 
than  a  deliberate  conspiracy,  and  so  considered 
among  the  Front  Street  resorts,  immensely  cheered 
him. 

"You  remember  the  holler  I  let  up  when  them 
Sheep-Campers  wanted  to  hang  McCaskey?" 
Broad  inquired.  "It  was  my  mistake.  His  ear 
and  a  hemp  knot  would  go  together  like  rheu- 
matism and  liniment." 

Bridges  agreed.  "Funny,  us  three  bein'  tilli- 
cums,  ain't  it?"  he  mused.  "Especially  after  the 
way  we  dredged  you.  We  didn't  need  your  loose 
change,  but — there  it  was,  so  we  took  it." 

"You'd  of  done  better  if  you'd  turned  on  the 
hollow  of  your  foot  that  day  and  romped  right 

401 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

back  to  the  old  farm,"  Broad  asserted.  "You'd 
never  of  doubled  up  with  the  McCaskeys  and 
you'd  still  be  the  blushing  yokel  you  was." 

"Yes,  you're  a  different  kid,  now."  Both 
gamblers,  it  seemed,  were  in  the  melancholy  mood 
for  moralizing.  "Why,  we  was  talkin'  to  Rouletta 
about  you  this  morning.  She's  all  bereaved  up 
over  this  thing;  she  sent  us  here  to  cheer  you. 
You  was  clean  as  an  apple,  then — and  easier  to 
pick — now  you're  just  a  common  bar-fly,  the  same 
as  us.  Laure  done  it.  She's  the  baby  vampire 
that  made  a  bum  of  you." 

"You're  not  very  flattering."  Phillips  smiled 
faintly. 

"Oh,  I'm  sort  of  repeatin'  what  Letty  said. 
She  put  me  to  thinkin'.  She's  quite  a  noisy  little 
missionary  when  she  gets  started." 

"Missionary!"  Broad  exclaimed,  in  disdain. 
"I  don't  like  the  word.  Them  birds  is  about  as 
useful  as  a  hip  pocket  in  an  undershirt.  Why, 
missionaries  don't  do  no  real,  lasting  good  outside 
of  Indian  villages!  Us  sure-thing  guys  are  the 
best  missionaries  that  ever  struck  this  country. 
Look  at  the  good  we  done  around  Dyea  and 
Skagway.  Them  gospel-bringers  never  touched  it. 
We  met  the  suckers  on  the  edge  of  the  Frozen 
North  and  we  turned  'em  back  by  the  score. 
Them  three  walnut  husks  done  more  good  than 
the  Ten  Commandments.  Yes,  sir,  a  set  of 
cheatin'  tools  will  save  more  strayed  lambs  than 
a  ship-load  of  Testaments." 

"Letty  figgers  that  somebody  tossed  that  gold- 

402 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

sack  over  the  top  of  the  cage  after  you  follered 
the  Count  out." 

"Impossible,"  Pierce  declared. 

"I  got  an  idea."  It  was  Broad  speaking  again. 
"The  mere  contemplation  of  physical  violence 
unmans  that  Frog.  He'd  about  as  soon  have  a 
beatin'  as  have  a  leg  cut  off  with  a  case-knife. 
S'pose  me  and  the  Kid  lure  him  to  some  lonely 
spot — some  good  yellin'-place — and  set  upon  him 
with  a  coupla  pick-handles.  We'll  make  him  con- 
fess or  we'll  maim  and  meller  him  till  he  backs 
out  through  his  bootlegs.  What  d'you  say?" 

Pierce  shook  his  head.  "Something  must  be 
done,  but  I  doubt  if  that's  it.  It's  tough  to  be — 
disgraced,  to  have  a  thing  like  this  hanging  over 
you.  I  wouldn't  mind  it  half  so  much  if  I  were 
up  for  murder  or  arson  or  any  man's-sized  crime. 
Anything  except  stealing!" 

"A  mere  matter  of  choice,"  the  former  speaker 
lightly  declared.  "We  got  boys  around  the 
Rialto  that  has  tried  'em  all.  They  don't  notice 
no  particular  difference." 

For  some  tune  the  three  friends  discussed  the 
situation,  then,  when  his  visitors  rose  to  go, 
Pierce  accompanied  them  to  the  limits  of  the 
Barracks  premises  and  there  stood  looking  after 
them,  realizing  with  a  fresh  pang  that  he  was  a 
prisoner.  It  was  an  unfortunate  predicament,  he 
reflected,  and  quite  as  unpleasant  as  the  one  which 
had  brought  him  into  conflict  with  the  angry  men 
of  Sheep  Camp.  That  had  been  an  experience 
fraught  with  peril,  but  his  present  plight  was 

403 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

little  better,  it  seemed  to  him,  for  already  he  felt 
the  weight  of  the  Dominion  over  him,  already  he 
fancied  himself  enmeshed  in  a  discouraging  tangle 
of  red  tape.  There  was  no  adventurous  thrill  to 
this  affair,  nothing  but  an  odious  feeling  of  shame 
and  disgrace  which  he  could  not  shake  off. 

He  was  staring  morosely  at  the  ground  between 
his  feet  when  he  heard  a  voice  that  caused  him 
to  start.  There,  facing  him  with  a  light  of  pleas- 
ure in  her  blue  eyes,  was  the  girl  of  the  skees. 

" Hello!"  said  she.  She  extended  her  hand,  and 
her  mitten  closed  over  Pierce's  fingers  with  a  firm 
clasp.  "I'm  awfully  glad  to  see  you  again,  Mr — 
She  hesitated,  then  with  a  smile  confessed,  "Do 
you  know,  you're  my  only  pupil  and  yet  I've 
never  heard  your  name." 

"Phillips,"  said  he. 

"You  don't  deserve  to  be  remembered  at  all, 
for  you  didn't  come  to  the  dance.  And  after 
you  had  promised,  too." 

"I  couldn't  come,"  he  assured  her,  truthfully 
enough. 

"I  looked  for  you.  I  was  quite  hurt  when  you 
failed  to  appear.  Then  I  thought  perhaps  you 
expected  something  more  formal  than  a  mere 
verbal  invitation,  and  hi  that  way  I  managed  to 
save  my  vanity.  If  I'd  known  who  you  were  or 
how  to  find  you  I'd  have  had  my  father  send  you 
a  note.  If  it  wasn't  that,  I'm  glad.  Well,  there's 
another  dance  this  week  and  I'll  expect  you." 

"I — I'm  not  dancing,"  he  stammered.  "Not 
at  the  Barracks,  anyhow." 

404 


THE    WINDS    OF   CHANCE 

The  girl  was  puzzled;  therefore  Pierce  sum- 
moned his  courage  and  explained,  with  as  brave 
an  attempt  at  lightness  as  he  could  afford:  "You 
see  before  you  a  victim  of  unhappy  circumstance, 
a  person  to  be  shunned.  I'm  worse  than  a  case 
of  smallpox.  I  don't  think  you  should  be  seen 
talking  to  me." 

"What  are  you  driving  at?" 

"I'm  getting  up  the  spiritual  momentum  neces- 
sary to  tell  you  that  I'm  a  thief!  Truly.  Any- 
how, three  choice  gentlemen  are  so  sure  of  it 
that  they  went  to  the  trouble  of  perjuring  them- 
selves and  having  me  arrested — " 

"Arrested?     You?" 

"Exactly.  And  the  evidence  is  very  strong.  I 
almost  think  I  must  be  guilty." 

"Are  you?" 

Pierce  shook  his  head. 

"Of  course  you're  not.  I  remember,  now — 
something  father  said  at  breakfast,  but  I  paid  no 
attention.  You  fought  with  that  good-looking 
French  count,  didn't  you?" 

"Thank  you  for  reminding  me  of  the  one  cheer- 
ful feature  connected  with  the  entire  affair.  Yes, 
I  raised  my  hand  to  him  in  anger — and  let  it  fall, 
but  Lieutenant  Rock  spoiled  the  whole  party." 

"Tell  me  every  tiling,  please." 

Pierce  was  more  than  willing  to  oblige,  and  he 
began  his  recital  at  the  time  of  his  first  meeting 
with  Joe  McCaskey  on  the  beach  at  Dyea.  While 
he  talked  the  girl  listened  with  that  peculiar  open- 
eved  meditative  gravity  he  had  noted  upon  their 

405 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

ibrmer  meeting.  When  he  had  finished  she  cried, 
breathlessly: 

"Why,  it's  as  exciting  as  a  book!" 

"You  think  so?  I  don't.  If  I  were  only  a 
clever  book  character  I'd  execute  some  dramatic 
coup  and  confound  my  enemies — book  people 
always  do.  But  my  mind  is  a  blank,  my  ingenuity 
is  at  a  complete  standstill.  I  feel  perfectly  fool- 
ish and  impotent.  To  save  me,  I  can't  understand 
how  that  gold  got  where  it  was,  for  the  cashier's 
cage  is  made  of  wire  and  the  door  has  a  spring- 
lock.  I  heard  it  snap  back  of  me  when  I  followed 
the  Count  outside.  I  had  an  insane  idea  that  his 
nose  would  stretch  if  I  pulled  it  and  I  believe  yet 
it  would.  Well,  I've  spent  one  night  in  the  dun- 
geon and  I'm  not  cut  out  to  enjoy  that  mode  of 
life.  All  I  can  think  about  is  the  Prisoner  of 
Chillon  and  the  Man  in  the  Iron  Mask  and  other 
distressing  instances  of  the  law's  injustice.  I  feel 
as  if  I'd  grown  a  gray  beard  in  the  last  twelve 
hours.  Do  I  look  much  older  than  when  we  met?" 

The  girl  shook  her  head.  "It's  tremendously 
dramatic.  Think  what  a  story  it  will  make  when 
it's  over  and  when  you  look  back  on  it." 

"Do  you  feel  that  way,  too?"  Pierce  inquired, 
curiously.  "As  if  everything  is  an  adventure? 
I  used  to.  I  used  to  stand  outside  of  myself  and 
look  on,  but  now — I'm  on  the  inside,  looking  out. 
I  suppose  it's  the  effect  of  the  gray  beard.  Ex- 
perience comes  fast  in  this  country.  To  one 
thing  I've  made  up  my  mind,  however;  when  I 
get  out  of  this  scrape,  if  I  ever  do,  I'm  going 

406 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

away  up  into  the  hills  where  the  wind  can  blow 
me  clean,  and  stay  there." 

"It's  a  perfect  shame!"  the  girl  said,  indig- 
nantly. "I  shall  tell  father  to  fix  it.  He  fixes 
everything  I  ask  him  to.  He's  wonderful,  as  you 
probably  know." 

"  Inasmuch  as  I  haven't  the  faintest  idea  who 
he  is—" 

"Why,  he's  Colonel  Cavendish!  I'm  Josephine 
Cavendish.  I  thought  everybody  knew  me." 

Pierce  could  not  restrain  a  start  of  surprise. 
Very  humbly  he  inquired: 

"Now  that  you  understand  who  I  am  and  what 
I'm  charged  with,  do  you  want  to — know  me;  be 
friends  with  me?" 

"We  are  friends,"  Miss  Cavendish  warmly 
declared.  "That's  not  something  that  may  hap- 
pen; it  has  happened.  I'm  peculiar  about  such 
matters;  I  have  my  own  way  of  looking  at  them. 
And  now  that  we're  friends  we're  going  to  be 
friends  throughout  and  I'm  going  to  help  you. 
Come  along  and  meet  mother." 

"I — don't  know  how  far  my  parole  extends," 
Pierce  ventured,  doubtfully. 

' '  Nonsense !  There's  only  one  authority  around 
here.  Father  thinks  he's  it,  but  he  isn't.  I  am. 
You're  my  prisoner  now.  Give  me  your  word  you 
won't  try  to  escape— 

"Escape!"  Pierce  smiled  broadly.  "I  don't 
much  care  if  I  never  get  out.  Prisons  aren't  half 
as  bad  as  they're  pictured." 

"Then  come!" 


CHAPTER  XXV 

"\/OU  really  must  do  something  for  this  boy 

A  Pierce  Phillips."  Mrs.  Cavendish  spoke  with 
decision. 

The  newspaper  which  the  colonel  was  reading 
was  barely  six  weeks  old,  therefore  he  was  deeply 
engrossed  in  it,  and  he  looked  up  somewhat  absent- 
mindedly. 

"Yes,  yes.  Of  course,  my  dear/'  he  murmured. 
"What  does  he  want  now?" 

"Why,  he  wants  his  liberty!  He  wants  this 
absurd  charge  against  him  dismissed!  It's  a 
shame  to  hold  a  boy  of  his  character,  his  breed- 
ing, on  the  mere  word  of  a  man  like  Count 
Courteau." 

Colonel  Cavendish  smiled  quizzically.  "You, 
too,  eh?"  said  he. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"Why,  you're  the  fourth  woman  who  has  ap- 
pealed to  me  since  his  arrest.  I  dare  say  I'll  hear 
from  others.  I  never  saw  a  fellow  who  had  the 
female  vote  so  solidly  behind  him.  I'm  beginning 
to  regard  him  as  a  sort  of  domestic  menace." 

"You  surely  don't  believe  him  guilty?" 

When  her  husband  refused  to  commit  himself 
Mrs.  Cavendish  exclaimed,  "Rubbish!" 

408 


"First  Josephine  came  to  me,"  the  colonel  ob- 
served. "She  was  deeply  indignant  and  con- 
siderably disappointed  in  me  as  a  man  and  a 
father  when  I  refused  to  quash  the  entire  pro- 
ceedings and  apologize,  on  behalf  of  the  Dominion 
Government,  for  the  injury  to  the  lad's  feelings. 
She  was  actually  peeved.  What  ails  her  I  don't 
know.  Then  the  Countess  Courteau  dropped  in, 
and  so  did  that  'lady  dealer'  from  the  Rialto. 
Now  you  take  up  his  defense."  The  speaker 
paused  thoughtfully  for  an  instant.  "It's  bad 
enough  to  have  the  fellow  hanging  around  our 
quarters  at  all  hours,  but  Josephine  actually 
suggested  that  we  have  him  dine  with  us!" 

"I  know.  She  spoke  of  it  to  me.  But  he  isn't 
'  hanging  around  at  all  hours.'  Josephine  is  in- 
terested in  his  case,  just  as  I  am,  because — " 

"My  dear!  He's  a  weigher  in  a  saloon,  a 
gambling-house  employee.  D'you  think  it  wise 
to  raise  such  a  dust  about  him?  I  like  the  boy 
myself — can't  help  liking  him — but  you  under- 
stand what  he's  been  doing?  He's  been  cutting 
up;  going  the  pace.  I  never  knew  you  to  counte- 
nance a  fellow— 

"I  never  saw  a  boy  toward  whom  I  felt  so — 
motherly,"  Mrs.  Cavendish  said,  with  some  ir- 
relevance. "I  don't  like  wild  young  men  any 
better  than  you  do,  but — he  isn't  a  thief,  of  that 
I'm  sure." 

"Look  here."  Colonel  Cavendish  laid  down 
his  paper,  and  there  was  more  gravity  than  usual 
in  his  tone.  "I  haven't  told  you  everything,  but 

409 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

it's  evidently  time  I  did.  Phillips  was  mixed  up 
with  bad  associates,  the  very  worst  in  town — " 

"So  he  told  me." 

"He  couldn't  have  told  you  what  I'm  about 
to.  He  had  a  most  unfortunate  affair  with  a 
dance-hall  girl — one  that  reflects  no  credit  upon 
him.  He  was  on  the  straight  path  to  ruin  and 
going  at  a  gallop,  drinking,  gambling — every- 
thing." 

"All  the  more  reason  for  trying  to  save  him. 
Remember,  you  were  pretty  wild  yourself." 

"Wait!  I  don't  say  he's  guilty  of  this  charge; 
I  want  to  believe  him  innocent — I'd  like  to  help 
prove  it.  For  that  very  reason  it  occurred  to 
me  that  Laure — she's  the  dance-hall  girl — might 
throw  some  light  on  the  matter,  so  I  put  Rock 
to  work  on  her.  Well,  his  report  wasn't  pleasant. 
The  girl  talked,  but  what  she  said  didn't  help 
Phillips.  She  confessed  that  he'd  been  stealing 
right  along  and  giving  her  the  money." 

Mrs.  Cavendish  was  shocked,  incredulous. 
After  a  moment,  however,  she  shook  her  head 
positively  and  exclaimed,  "I  don't  believe  a 
word  of  it." 

"She's  going  to  swear  to  it." 

"Her  oath  would  be  no  better  than  her  word — ' 

"Good  Lord!"  the  colonel  cried,  testily.  "Has 
this  young  imp  completely  hypnotized  you  wom- 
en? The  Kirby  girl  is  frightened  to  death,  and 
the  Countess — well,  she  told  me  herself  that  her 
husband's  jealousy  was  at  the  bottom  of  the 
whole  thing.  Laure,  in  spite  of  what  she  said 

410 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

to  Rock,  is  behaving  like  a  mad  person.  I  dropped 
in  at  the  Rialto  this  evening  and  she  asked  me 
what  was  the  worst  Pierce  could  expect.  I  made 
it  strong,  purposely,  and  I  thought  she'd  famt. 
No,  it's  a  nasty  affair,  all  through.  And,  by  Jove! 
to  cap  the  climax,  you  and  Josephine  take  part 
in  it!  I  flatter  myself  that  I'm  democratic,  but — • 
have  him  here  to  dine!  Gad!  That's  playing 
democracy  pretty  strong." 

"It  isn't  fair  to  imply  that  he's  nothing  more 
than  a  ladies'  man.  They're  detestable.  The 
men  like  Phillips,  too." 

"True,"  Cavendish  admitted.  "He  has  the 
God-given  faculty  of  making  friends,  and  for  that 
alone  I  can  forgive  him  almost  anything.  It's  a 
wonderful  faculty — better  than  being  born  lucky 
or  rich  or  handsome.  I'm  fond  of  him,  but  I've 
favored  him  all  I  can.  If  I  thought  Josephine 
were  seriously  interested  in  him — well,  I  wouldn't 
feel  so  friendly."  The  speaker  laughed  shortly. 
"No.  The  man  who  claims  that  girl's  attention 
must  be  clean  through  and  through.  He  must 
stand  the  acid  test." 

When  his  wife  silently  approved  this  sentiment 
the  colonel  picked  up  his  paper  and  resumed  his 
reading. 

Pierce' s  friends  were  indeed  uoiformly  indig- 
nant, and  without  exception  they  maintained 
their  faith  in  his  innocence;  most  of  them,  hi 
fact,  actually  applied  themselves  to  the  task  of 
clearing  him  of  Courteau's  charge.  But  of  the 

27  411 


THE   WINDS   OP   CHANCE 

latter  the  one  who  applied  herself  the  most 
thoughtfully,  the  most  seriously,  was  the  Countess 
Courteau.  Having  reasoned  that  she  herself  was 
indirectly  responsible  for  his  plight,  she  set  about 
aiding  him  in  a  thoroughly  feminine  and  indirect 
manner.  It  was  an  unpleasant  undertaking;  she 
took  it  up  with  intense  abhorrence;  it  required 
her  utmost  determination  to  carry  it  on.  Her 
plan  had  formed  itself  immediately  she  had  learned 
what  had  happened;  her  meeting  with  the  Count 
that  evening  and  her  unexpected  solicitude,  her 
unbidden  attention  to  his  injury,  were  a  part  of 
it.  As  tune  went  on  she  assumed  an  air  that 
amazed  the  man.  She  meekly  accepted  his  re- 
proaches, she  submitted  to  his  abuse;  cautiously, 
patiently  she  paved  the  way  to  a  reconciliation. 

It  was  by  no  means  easy,  for  she  and  Henri 
had  long  lived  in  what  was  little  better  than  a 
state  of  open  hostility,  and  she  had  been  at  no 
pains  to  conceal  the  utter  disregard  and  contempt 
she  felt  for  him.  He,  of  course,  had  resented  it; 
her  change  of  demeanor  now  awoke  his  suspicion. 
He  was  a  vain  and  shallow  person,  however;  his 
conceit  was  thoroughly  Latin,  and  Hilda's  per- 
severance was  in  a  way  rewarded.  Slowly,  grudg- 
ingly he  gave  ground  before  her  subtle  advances— 
they  were,  hi  fact,  less  advances  on  her  part  than 
opportunities  for  him — he  experienced  a  feeling 
of  triumph  and  began  to  assume  a  masterful  air 
that  was  indeed  trying  to  one  of  her  disposition. 
Before  his  friends  he  boasted  that  his  energetic 
defense  of  his  honor  had  worked  a  marvel  hi  his 

412 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

home;  in  her  presence  he  made  bold  to  take  on 
a  swagger  and  an  authority  hitherto  unknown. 

Hilda  stood  it,  with  what  cost  no  one  could 
possibly  understand.  In  some  manner  she  man- 
aged to  convey  the  idea  that  he  dominated  her 
and  that  she  cringed  spiritually  before  him.  She 
permitted  him  occasionally  to  surprise  a  look  of 
bewilderment,  almost  of  fright,  in  her  eyes,  and 
this  tickled  the  man  immensely.  With  a  fatuous 
complacency,  thoroughly  typical,  he  told  himself 
that  she  feared  and  respected  him — was  actually 
falling  in  love  with  him  all  over  again.  When 
he  felt  the  impulse  to  scout  this  idea  he  went 
to  his  mirror  and  examined  himself  critically. 
WTiy  not?  he  asked  himself.  He  was  very  pleas- 
ing. Women  had  always  been  wax  in  his  hands; 
he  had  a  personality,  an  air,  an  irresistible  some- 
thing that  had  won  him  many  conquests.  It 
seemed  not  unlikely  that  Hilda  had  been  shocked 
into  a  new  and  keener  realization  of  his  many 
admirable  qualities  and  was  ready  to  make  up, 
if,  or  when,  he  graciously  chose  to  permit  her. 

On  the  very  evening  that  Colonel  Cavendish 
and  his  wife  were  discussing  Pierce  Phillips' 
affair,  Courteau,  feeling  in  a  particularly  jubilant 
mood,  decided  to  put  the  matter  to  a  test;  there- 
fore he  surprised  his  wife  by  walking  into  her  room 
unannounced. 

"My  dear,"  he  began,  "it's  high  time  we  had 
a  talk." 

"Indeed!"  said  she.     "What  about?" 

"About  you,  about  me,  about  our  affairs.     Are 

413 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

we  husband  and  wife  or  are  we  not?  I  ask 
you." 

With  a  queer  nicker  of  her  eyelids  she  answered: 
"Why — of  course.  You  have  appeared  to  forget 
it  sometimes,  but — 

"No  reproaches,  please.  The  past  is  gone. 
Neither  of  us  is  without  blame.  You've  had 
your  fling,  too,  but  I've  shown  you  that  I'm 
made  of  stern  stuff  and  will  tolerate  no  further 
foolishness.  I  am  a  different  Courteau  than  you 
ever  knew.  I've  had  my  rebirth.  Now  then, 
our  present  mode  of  life  is  not  pleasing  to  me,  for 
I'm  a  fellow  of  spirit.  Think  of  me — in  the  atti- 
tude of  a  dependent!" 

"I  share  generously  with  you.  I  give  you 
money — " 

"The  very  point,"  he  broke  in,  excitedly. 
"You  give;  I  accept.  You  direct;  I  obey.  It 
must  end  now,  at  once.  I  cannot  play  the  ac- 
companiment while  you  sing.  Either  I  close  my 
eyes  to  your  folly  and  forgive,  utterly — either 
we  become  man  and  wife  again  and  I  assume 
leadership — or  I  make  different  plans  for  the 
future." 

"Just  what  do  you  propose,  Henri?" 

The  fellow  shrugged.  "I  offer  you  a  recon- 
ciliation; that,  to  begin  with.  You've  had  your 
lesson  and  I  flatter  myself  that  you  see  me  hi  a 
new  light.  The  brave  can  afford  to  be  generous. 
I — well,  I've  always  had  a  feeling  for  you;  I've 
never  been  blind  to  your  attractions,  my  dear. 
Lately  I've  even  experienced  something  of  the — 

414 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

er — the  old  spell.  Understand  me?  It's  a  fact. 
I'm  actually  taken  with  you,  Hilda;  I  have  the 
fire  of  an  impetuous  lover." 

Courteau's  eyes  gleamed;  there  was  an  unusual 
warmth  to  his  gaze  and  a  vibrance  to  his  tone. 
He  curled  his  mustache,  he  swelled  his  chest,  he 
laughed  lightly  but  deeply.  "What  do  you  say, 
eh?  I'm  not  altogether  displeasing.  No?  You 
see  something  in  me  to  admire?  I  thrill  you? 
Confess." 

The  wife  lowered  her  eyes.  "You  have  some 
power — "  she  murmured. 

"Power!  Precisely."  The  Count  nodded  and 
there  was  a  growing  vivacity  and  sparkle  to  him. 
"That  is  my  quality — a  power  to  charm,  a  power 
to  achieve,  a  power  to  triumph.  Well,  I  choose 
now  to  win  you  again  for  myself.  It  is  my  whim. 
To  rekindle  a  love  which  one  has  lost  is  a  test  of 
any  man's  power,  riest-ce  pas?  You  are  fond  of 
me.  I  see  it.  Am  I  not  right,  my  sweet?" 

He  laid  his  soft  white  hands  upon  his  wife's 
shoulders  and  bent  an  ardent  gaze  upon  her. 
Hilda  faced  him  with  an  odd  smile;  her  cheeks 
were  white,  her  ice-blue  eyes  were  very  wide  and 
bright  and  they  held  a  curious  expression. 

"Come!  A  kiss!"  he  persisted.  "Oho!  You 
tremble,  you  shrink  like  a  maiden.  I,  too,  am  ex- 
hilarated, but — "  With  a  chuckle  he  folded  her 
in  his  embrace  and  she  did  not  resist.  After  a 
moment  he  resumed:  "This  is  quite  too  amusing. 
I  wish  my  friends  to  see  and  to  understand.  Put 

on  your  prettiest  dress — ' 

415 


THE   WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

"What  for?" 

"We  are  going  down-town.  We  shall  celebrate 
our  reunion — we  shall  drink  to  it  publicly.  All 
Dawson  shall  take  note.  They  have  said,  'Cour- 
teau  is  a  loafer,  a  ne'er-do-well,  and  he  permits 
another  to  win  his  wife  away  from  him/  I  pro- 
pose to  show  them." 

"You  mean  you  propose  to  show  me  off.  Is 
that  it?  Another  conquest,  eh?" 

"Have  it  as  you  will.    I — " 

"I  won't  go,"  Hilda  cried,  furiously.  She  freed 
herself  from  his  arms.  "You  know  I  won't  go. 
You'd  like  to  parade  me  in  the  places  you  frequent 
— saloons,  dance  -  halls,  gambling  -  houses.  The 
idea!" 

"You  won't?  Tut,  tut!  What  is  this?"  Cour- 
teau  cried,  angrily.  "Rebellious  so  soon?  Is  this 
recent  change  of  demeanor  assumed?  Have  you 
been  fooling  me?" 

"What  change?"  the  woman  parried.  "I  don't 
know — " 

"Oh  yes,  you  do!  For  the  first  time  in  years 
you  have  treated  me  as  a  husband  should  be 
treated;  half -measures  will  no  longer  satisfy  me. 
We  have  arrived  at  the  show-up.  Are  you  a 
miserable  Delilah  or — " 

"Please  don't  ask  me  to  go  out  with  you, 
Henri,"  the  woman  pleaded,  in  genuine  distress, 
now  that  she  saw  he  was  in  earnest.  "To  be 
paraded  like  an  animal  on  a  chain!  Think  of  my 
feelings." 

"Indeed!    Think  of  mine,"  he  cried.     "This 

416 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

is  my  hour,  my  triumph;  I  propose  to  make  it 
complete.  Now  that  I  carefully  consider  it,  I 
will  put  you  to  the  test.  You've  had  a  fine  time; 
if  you  pay  a  price  for  it,  whose  fault  is  that? 
No!  One  must  be  cruel  to  be  kind." 

"Cruel!  Kind!"  Hilda  sneered.  "It  merely 
pleases  you  to  humiliate  me." 

"Very  well!"  blazed  the  Count.  "If  it  pleases 
me,  so  be  it.  That  is  my  attitude  now  and 
henceforth — my  will  is  to  be  law.  Come!  Your 
prettiest  dress  and  your  prettiest  smile,  for  we 
celebrate.  Yes,  and  money,  too;  I'm  as  poverty- 
ridden  as  usual.  We  will  treat  my  friends,  we 
will  gamble  here  and  there,  we  will  watch  the 
shows  to  an  accompaniment  of  popping  corks 
so  that  every  one  shall  see  us  and  say:  'Yonder  is 
Courteau  and  his  wife.  They  have  made  up  and 
she  adores  him  like  a  mistress.  Parbleu!  The 
man  has  a  way  with  women,  eh!'  It  shall  be  a 
great  night  for  me." 

"Are  you  really  serious?" 

Courteau  stamped  his  felt-shod  foot.  "Anger 
me  no  more." 

Hilda's  face  was  colorless,  her  eyes  were  still 
glowing  with  that  peculiar  light  of  defiance,  of 
desperation,  of  curiosity;  nevertheless,  she  turned 
away  and  began  to  dress  herself. 

Courteau  was  not  disappointed.  His  appear- 
ance in  the  river-front  resorts,  accompanied  by 
his  wife,  created  a  sensation  indeed.  And  Hilda's 
bearing,  under  the  circumstances,  added  to  his 
gratification,  for,  now  that  the  die  was  cast,  she 

417 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

surrendered  completely,  she  clung  to  him  as  if 
feeling  a  new  dependence,  and  this  filled  his  cup 
to  overflowing.  It  was  an  outrageous  thing  to  do; 
no  one  save  a  Courteau  would  have  thought  of 
subjecting  the  woman  who  bore  his  name  to  such 
a  humiliation.  But  he  was  a  perverse  individual; 
his  mind  ran  in  crooked  courses;  he  took  a  bizarre 
delight  hi  the  unusual,  and  morality  of  the  com- 
mon sort  he  knew  not.  To  smirch  her,  even  a 
little  bit,  to  subject  her  to  seeming  disgrace,  not 
only  taught  her  a  lesson,  but  also  united  them 
more  closely,  so  he  told  himself.  That  he  had  the 
ability  to  compel  her  to  do  anything  against  her 
will  immensely  tickled  his  vanity,  for  her  stub- 
born independence  had  always  been  a  trial  to 
him.  He  knew  that  her  social  status  was  not  of 
the  highest;  nevertheless,  her  reputation  was  far 
better  than  his,  and  among  all  except  the  newest 
arrivals  in  Dawson  she  bore  a  splendid  name.  To 
be,  himself,  the  cause  of  blackening  that  name, 
in  order  to  match  his  own,  gratified  his  feelings  of 
resentment.  All  in  all,  it  was  a  night  of  nights 
for  him  and  he  was  at  no  pains  to  conceal  his 
satisfaction.  From  one  place  to  another  he  led 
her,  taking  malicious  enjoyment  from  the  distress 
he  caused. 

Courteau  was  not  loud  nor  blatant;  neverthe- 
less, his  triumphant  demeanor,  his  proprietary 
ah-,  fairly  shouted  the  fact  that  he  had  tamed  this 
woman  and  was  exhibiting  her  against  her  in- 
clinations. At  every  bar  he  forced  her  to  drink 
with  him  and  with  his  friends;  he  even  called  up 

418 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

barroom  loafers  whom  he  did  not  know  and  intro- 
duced them  with  an  elaborate  flourish.  The 
money  he  spent  was  hers,  of  course,  but  he  squan- 
dered it  royally,  leaving  a  trail  of  empty  cham- 
pagne-bottles behind.  Champagne,  at  this  time, 
sold  for  twenty  dollars  a  quart  and,  although  Hilda 
saw  her  earnings  melting  away  with  appalling 
rapidity,  she  offered  no  protest.  Together  they 
flung  their  chips  broadcast  upon  the  gambling- 
tables,  and  their  winnings,  which  were  few,  went 
to  buy  more  popularity  with  the  satellites  who 
trailed  them. 

As  tune  passed  and  Hilda  continued  to  meet  the 
test,  her  husband's  satisfaction  gained  a  keener 
edge.  He  beamed,  he  strutted,  he  twisted  his 
mustache  to  needle-points.  She  was  a  thorough- 
bred, that  he  assured  himself.  But,  after  all, 
why  shouldn't  she  do  this  for  him?  The  women 
with  whom  he  was  accustomed  to  associate  would 
not  have  counted  such  an  evening  as  this  a  sacri- 
fice, and,  even  had  they  so  considered  it,  he  was 
in  the  habit  of  exacting  sacrifices  from  women. 
They  liked  it;  it  proved  their  devotion. 

Her  subjugation  was  made  complete  when  he 
led  her  into  a  box  at  the  Rialto  Theater  and  in- 
sisted upon  the  two  McCaskeys  joining  them. 
The  brothers  at  first  declined,  but  by  this  time 
Courteau's  determination  carried  all  before  it. 

Joe  halted  him  outside  the  box  door,  however, 
to  inquire  into  the  meaning  of  the  affair. 

"It  means  this,"  the  Count  informed  him.  "I 
have  effected  a  complete  reconciliation  with  my 

419 


THE    WINDS   OP   CHANCE 

adorable  wife.  Women  are  all  alike — they  fear 
the  iron,  they  kiss  the  hand  that  smites  them.  I 
have  made  her  my  obedient  slave,  mon  ami. 
That's  what  it  means.'"' 

"It  don't  look  good  to  me,"  Joe  said,  morosely. 
"She's  got  an  ace  buried  somewhere." 

"Eh?    What  are  you  trying  to  say?" 

"I've  got  a  hunch  she's  salving  you,  Count. 
She's  stuck  on  Phillips,  like  I  told  you,  and  she's 
trying  to  get  a  peek  at  your  hole  card." 

It  was  characteristic  of  Courteau  that  he 
should  take  instant  offense  at  this  reflection  upon 
his  sagacity,  this  doubt  of  his  ability  as  a  charmer. 

"You  insult  my  intelligence,"  he  cried,  stiffly, 
"and,  above  all,  I  possess  intelligence.  You — do 
not.  No.  You  are  coarse,  you  are  gross.  I  am 
full  of  sentiment — " 

"Rats!"  McCaskey  growled.  "I  get  that  way 
myself  sometimes.  Sentiment  like  yours  costs 
twenty  dollars  a  quart.  But  this  ain't  the  time 
for  a  spree;  we  got  business  on  our  hands." 

The  Count  eyed  his  friend  with  a  frown.  "It 
is  a  personal  affair  and  concerns  our  business  not 
in  the  least.  I  am  a  revengeful  person;  I  have 
pride  and  I  exact  payment  from  those  who  wound 
it.  I  brought  my  wife  here  as  a  punishment  and 
I  propose  to  make  her  drink  with  you.  Your 
company  is  not  agreeable  at  any  time,  my  triend, 
and  she  does  you  an  honor — 

"Cut  out  that  tony  talk,"  Joe  said,  roughly. 
"You're  a  broken-hipped  stiff  and  you're  trying 
to  grab  her  bank-roll.  Don't  you  s'pose  I'm  on? 

420 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

My  company  was  all  right  until  you  got  your 
hand  in  the  hotel  cash-drawer;  now  I'm  coarse. 
Maybe  she's  on  the  square — she  fell  for  you  once 
— but  I  bet  she's  working  you.  Make  sure  of 
this,  my  high  and  mighty  nobleman" — for  em- 
phasis the  speaker  laid  a  heavy  hand  upon  the 
Count's  shoulder  and  thrust  his  disagreeable  face 
closer — "that  you  keep  your  mouth  shut.  Savvy? 
Don't  let  her  sweat  you — " 

The  admonitory  wrords  ended  abruptly,  for  the 
door  of  the  box  reopened  and  Joe  found  the  Count- 
e&s  Courteau  facing  him.  For  an  instant  their 
glances  met  and  in  her  eyes  the  man  saw  an  ex- 
pression uncomfortably  reminiscent  of  that  day 
at  Sheep  Camp  when  she  had  turned  public  wrath 
upon  his  brother  Jim's  head.  But  the  look  was 
fleeting;  she  turned  it  upon  her  husband,  and  the 
Count,  with  an  apology  for  his  delay,  entered  the 
box,  dragging  McCaskey  with  him. 

Frank,  it  appeared,  shared  his  brother's  sus- 
picions; the  two  exchanged  glances  as  Joe  en- 
tered; then  when  the  little  party  had  adjusted 
itself  to  the  cramped  quarters  they  watched  the 
Countess  curiously,  hoping  to  analyze  her  true  in- 
tent. But  in  this  they  were  unsuccessful.  She 
treated  both  of  them  with  a  cool,  impartial  for- 
mality, quite  natural  under  the  circumstances, 
but  in  no  other  way  did  she  appear1  conscious  of 
that  clash  on  the  Chilkoot  trail.  It  was  not  a 
pleasant  situation  at  best,  and  Joe  especially  was 
ill  at  ease,  but  Courteau  continued  his  spend- 
thrift role,  keeping  the  waiters  busy,  and  under 

421 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

the  influence  of  his  potations  the  elder  McCaskey 
soon  regained  some  of  his  natural  sang-froid. 
All  three  men  drank  liberally,  and  by  the  time 
the  lower  floor  had  been  cleared  for  dancing  they 
were  in  a  hilarious  mood.  They  laughed  loudly, 
they  shouted  greetings  across  to  other  patrons 
of  the  place,  they  flung  corks  at  the  whirling 
couples  below. 

Meanwhile,  they  forced  the  woman  to  imbibe 
\7ith  them.  Joe,  in  spite  of  his  returning  con- 
fidence, kept  such  close  watch  of  her  that  she 
could  not  spill  her  glass  into  the  bucket,  except 
rarely.  Hilda  hated  alcohol  and  its  effect;  she 
was  not  accustomed  to  drinking.  As  she  felt  her 
intoxication  mounting  she  became  fearful  that 
the  very  medium  upon  which  she  had  counted  for 
success  would  prove  to  be  her  undoing.  Des- 
perately she  battled  to  retain  her  wits.  More 
than  once,  with  a  reckless  defiance  utterly  foreign 
to  her  preconceived  plans,  she  was  upon  the  point 
of  hurling  the  bubbling  contents  of  her  glass  into 
the  flushed  faces  about  her  and  telling  these  men 
how  completely  she  was  shamming,  but  she  man- 
aged to  resist  the  temptation.  That  she  felt 
such  an  impulse  at  all  made  her  fearful  of  com- 
mitting some  action  equally  rash,  of  dropping 
some  word  that  would  prove  fatal. 

It  was  a  hideous  ordeal.  She  realized  that  al- 
ready the  cloak  of  decency,  of  respectability,  which 
she  had  been  at  such  pains  to  preserve  during 
these  difficult  years,  was  gone,  lost  for  good  and  all. 
She  had  made  herself  a  Lady  Godiva;  by  this 

422 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

night  of  conspicuous  revelry  she  had  undone 
everything.  Not  only  had  she  condoned  the 
sins  and  the  shortcomings  of  her  dissolute  hus- 
band, but  also  she  had  put  herself  on  a  level  with 
him  and  with  the  fallen  women  of  the  town — his 
customary  associates.  Courteau .  had  done  this 
to  her.  It  had  been  his  proposal.  She  could 
have  throttled  him  where  he  sat. 

The  long  night  dragged  on  interminably.  Like 
leeches  the  two  McCaskeys  clung  to  their  prodigal 
host,  and  not  until  the  early  hours  of  morning, 
when  the  Count  had  become  sodden,  sullen, 
stupefied,  and  when  they  were  in  a  condition 
little  better,  did  they  permit  him  to  leave  them. 
How  Hilda  got  him  home  she  scarcely  knew,  for 
she,  too,  had  all  but  lost  command  of  her  senses. 
There  were  moments  when  she  fought  unavailing- 
ly  against  a  mental  numbness,  a  stupor  that  rolled 
upward  and  suffused  her  like  a  cloud  of  noxious 
vapors,  leaving  her  knees  weak,  her  hands  clumsy, 
her  vision  blurred;  again  waves  of  deathly  illness 
surged  over  her.  Under  and  through  it  all, 
however,  her  subconscious  will  to  conquer  re- 
mained firm.  Over  and  over  she  told  herself: 

"I'll  have  the  truth  and  then — I'll  make  him 
pay." 

Courteau  followed  his  wife  into  her  room,  and 
there  his  maudlin  manner  changed.  He  roused 
himself  and  smiled  at  her  fatuously;  into  his  eyes 
flamed  a  desire,  into  his  cheeks  came  a  deeper 
flush.  He  pawed  at  her  caressingly;  he  voiced 
thick,  passionate  protestations.  Hilda  had  ex- 

423 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

pected  nothing  less;  it  was  for  this  that  she  had 
bled  her  flesh  and  crucified  her  spirit  these  many 
hours. 

"  You're — wonderful  woman/'  the  man  mum- 
bled as  he  swayed  with  her  hi  his  arms.  "Got 
all  the  old  charm  and  more.  Game,  too!"  He 
laughed  foolishly,  then  hi  drunken  gravity  as- 
serted: "Well,  I'm  the  man,  the  stronger  vessel. 
To  turn  hate  into  love,  that — " 

"You've  taken  your  price.  You've  had  your 
hour,"  she  told  him.  Her  head  was  thrown  back, 
her  eyes  were  closed,  her  teeth  were  clenched  as 
if  in  a  final  struggle  for  self-restraint. 

Courteau  pressed  his  lips  to  hers;  then  in  a  sud- 
den frenzy  he  crushed  her  closer  and  fell  to  kiss- 
ing her  cheeks,  her  neck,  her  throat.  He  mistook 
her  shudder  of  abhorrence  for  a  thrill  responsive 
to  his  passion,  and  hiccoughed: 

"You're  mine  again,  all  mine,  and — I'm  mad 
about  you.  I'm  aflame.  This  is  like  the  night 
of  our  marriage,  what?" 

"Are  you  satisfied,  now  that  you've  made  me 
suffer?  Do  you  still  imagine  I  care  for  that 
foolish  boy?" 

"Phillips?  Bah!  A  noisy  swine."  Again  the 
Count  chuckled,  but  this  time  his  merriment  ran 
away  with  him  until  he  shook  and  until  tears  came 
to  his  eyes. 

Without  reason  Hilda  joined  nThis  laughter. 
Together  they  stood  rocking,  giggling,  snickering, 
as  if  at  some  excruciating  jest. 

"He — he  tried  to  steal  you — from  me.    From 

424 


THE    WINDS    OF   CHANCE 

me.    Imagine   it!    Then   he   struck   me.    Well, 
where  is  he  now,  eh?" 

"I  never  dreamed  that  you  cared  enough  for 
me  to — do  what  you  did.  To  risk  so  much.'* 

"Risk?" 

Hilda  nodded,  and  her  loose  straw-gold  hair 
brushed  Courteau's  cheek.  "Don't  pretend  any 
longer.  I  knew  from  the  start.  But  you  were 
jealous.  When  a  woman  loses  the  power  to  ex- 
cite jealousy  it's  a  sign  she's  growing  old  and 
ugly  and  losing  her  fire.  She  can  face  anything 
except  that." 

"Fire!"  Henri  exclaimed.  "Parbku!  Don't  I 
know  you  to  be  a  volcano?" 

"How  did  you  manage  the  affair — that  fellow's 
ruin?  It  frightens  me  to  realize  that  you  can 
accomplish  such  things." 

The  Count  pushed  his  wife  away.  "What  are 
you  talking  about?"  he  demanded. 

"Oh,  very  well!  Carry  it  out  if  you  wish,"  she 
said,  with  a  careless  shrug.  "But  you're  not  fool- 
ing me  hi  the  least.  On  the  contrary,  I  admire 
your  spirit.  Now  then,  I'm  thirsty.  And  you 
are,  too."  With  a  smile  she  evaded  his  out- 
stretched arms  and  left  the  room.  She  was  back 
in  a  moment  with  a  bottle  and  two  glasses.  The 
latter  she  filled;  her  own  she  raised  with  a  gesture, 
and  Courteau  blindly  followed  suit. 

In  spite  of  his  deep  intoxication  the  man  still 
retained  the  embers  of  suspicion,  and  when  she 
spoke  of  Pierce  Phillips  they  began  to  glow  and 
threatered  to  burst  into  flame.  Cunningly,  per- 

425 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

sistently  she  played  upon  him,  however.  She  en- 
ticed, she  coquetted,  she  cajoled;  she  maddened 
him  with  her  advances;  she  teased  him  with  her 
repulses;  she  drugged  him  with  her  smiles,  her 
fragrant  charms.  Time  and  again  he  was  upon 
the  point  of  surrender,  but  caught  himself  in  time. 

She  won  at  last.  She  dragged  the  story  from 
him,  bit  by  bit,  playing  upon  his  vanity,  until  he 
gabbled  boastfully  and  took  a  crapulent  delight 
in  repeating  the  details.  It  was  a  tale  distorted 
and  confused,  but  the  truth  was  there.  She 
made  an  excuse  to  leave  him,  finally,  and  remained 
out  of  the  room  for  a  long  time.  When  she  re- 
turned it  was  to  find  him  sprawled  across  her  bed 
and  fast  asleep. 

For  a  moment  she  held  dizzily  to  the  bedpost 
and  stared  down  at  him.  Her  mask  had  slipped 
now,  her  face  was  distorted  with  loathing,  and  so 
deep  were  her  feelings  that  she  could  not  bear 
to  touch  him,  even  to  cover  him  over.  Leaving 
him  spread-eagled  as  he  was,  she  staggered  out 
of  his  unclean  presence. 

Hilda  was  deathly  sick;  objects  were  gyrating 
before  her  eyes;  she  felt  a  hideous  nightmare 
sensation  of  unreality,  and  was  filled  with  an 
intense  contempt,  a  tragic  disgust  for  herself. 
Pausing  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  she  strove  to 
gather  herself  together;  then  slowly,  passion- 
ately she  cursed  the  name  of  Pierce  Phillips. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

'"TOM  LINTON  and  Jerry  Quirk  toiled  slowly 
A  up  the  trail  toward  their  cabin.  Both  men 
were  bundled  thickly  in  clothing,  both  bewhisk- 
ered  visages  bore  grotesque  breath-masks  of  ice; 
even  their  eyebrows  were  hoary  with  frost.  The 
partners  were  very  tired. 

Pausing  in  the  chip-littered  space  before  their 
door,  they  gazed  down  the  trail  to  a  mound  of 
gravel  which  stood  out  raw  and  red  against  the 
universal  whiteness.  This  mound  was  in  the  form 
of  a  truncated  cone  and  on  its  level  top  was  a 
windlass  and  a  pole  bucket  track.  From  beneath 
the  windlass  ^jssued  a  cloud  of  smoke  which 
mounted  in  billows,  as  if  breathed  forth  from  a 
concealed  chimney — smoke  from  the  smothered 
drift  fires  laid  against  the  frozen  face  of  pay  dirt 
forty  feet  below  the  surface.  Evidently  this  fire 
was  burning  to  suit  the  partners;  after  watching 
it  a  moment,  Tom  took  a  buck-saw  and  fell 
stiffly  to  work  upon  a  dry  spruce  log  which  lay 
on  the  saw-buck;  Jerry  spat  on  his  mittens  and 
began  to  split  the  blocks  as  they  fell. 

Darkness  was  close  at  hand,  but  ^oth  men 
were  so  fagged  that  they  found  it  impc  ^ble  to 

28  427 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

hurry.  Neither  did  they  speak.  Patiently,  si- 
lently they  sawed  and  chopped,  then  carried  the 
wood  into  the  chilly  cabin;  while  one  lit  the  lamp 
and  went  for  a  sack  of  ice,  the  other  kindled  a 
fire.  These  tasks  accomplished,  by  mutual  con- 
sent, but  still  without  exchanging  a  word,  they 
approached  the  table.  From  the  window-sill 
Tom  took  a  coin  and  balanced  it  upon  his  thumb 
and  forefinger;  then,  in  answer  to  his  bleak,  in- 
quiring glance,  Jerry  nodded  and  he  snapped  the 
piece  into  the  air.  While  it  was  still  spinning 
Jerry  barked,  sharply: 

"Tails!" 

Both  gray  heads  bent  and  near-sightedly  ex- 
amined the  coin. 

"Tails  she  is,"  Tom  announced.  He  replaced 
the  silver  piece,  crossed  the  room  to  his  bunk, 
seated  himself  upon  it,  and  remained  tnere  while 
Jerry,  with  a  sudden  access  of  cheerfulness,  hustled 
to  the  stove,  warmed  himself,  and  then  began 
culinary  preparations. 

These  preparations  were  simple,  but  precise; 
olso  they  were  deliberate.  Jerry  cut  one  slice  of 
ham,  he  measured  out  just  enough  coffee  for  one 
person,  he  opened  one  can  of  corn,  and  he  mixed 
a  half-paii  ?f  biscuits.  Tom  watched  him  from 
beneath  a  fro*. "»,  meanwhile  tugging  moodily  at 
the  icicles  which  &ti?l  clung  to  his  lips.  His  cor- 
ner of  the  cabin  was  cold,  hence  it  was  a  painful 
process.  WTien  he  had  disposed  of  the  last  lump 
and  when  he  could  no  longer  restrain  his  irrita- 
tion, he  broke  out: 

428 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Of  course  you  had  to  make  bread,  didn't  you? 
Just  because  you  know  I'm  starving." 

"It  come  tails,  didn't  it?"  Jerry  inquired,  with 
aggravating  pleasantness.  "It  ain't  my  fault 
you're  starving,  and  you  got  all  night  to  cook  what 
you  want — after  I'm  done.  /  don't  care  if  you 
bake  a  layer  cake  and  freeze  ice-cream.  You  can 
put  your  front  feet  in  the  trough  and  champ 
your  swill;  you  can  root  and  waller  in  it,  for  all 
of  me.  I  won't  hurry  you,  not  in  the  least." 

"It's  come  tails  every  tune  lately,"  grumbled 
the  former  speaker. 

Jerry  giggled.  "I  always  was  right  lucky,  ex- 
cept in  pickin'  pardners,"  he  declared.  In  a 
cracked  and  tuneless  voice  he  began  humming  a 
roundelay,  evidently  intended  to  express  gaiety 
and  contentment. 

Unable  longer  to  withstand  his  gnawing  hunger, 
Tom  secured  for  himself  a  large  round  hardtack, 
and  with  this  he  tried  to  ward  off  the  pangs  of 
starvation.  But  he  had  small  success  with  the 
endeavor,  for  his  teeth  were  poor.  He  flung 
the  thing  of  adamant  aside,  finally,  and  cried, 
testily: 

"My  God!  Ain't  it  bad  enough  to  eat  a 
phonograph  record  without  having  to  listen  to  the 
damn'  machine?  Shut  up,  will  you?  You've  got 
the  indecentest  singing  voice  I  ever  heard." 

"Say!"  Jerry  looked  up  belligerently.  "You 
don't  have  to  listen  to  my  singin'.  There's 
plenty  of  room  outside — all  the  room  from  here 
south  to  Seattle.  And  you  don't  have  to  gum 

429 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

that  pilot-bread  if  your  teeth  is  loose.  You  can 
boil  yourself  a  pot  of  mush — when  your  turn 
comes.  You  got  a  free  hand.  As  for  me,  I  eat 
anything  I  want  to  and  I  sing  anything  I  want  to 
whenever  I  want  to,  and  I'd  like  to  see  anybody 
stop  me.  We  don't  have  to  toss  up  for  turns  at 
singin'."  More  loudly  he  raised  his  high-pitched 
voice;  ostentatiously  he  rattled  his  dishes. 

Tom  settled  back  in  exasperated  silence,  but 
as  tune  wore  on  and  his  hungry  nostrils  were  as- 
sailed with  the  warm,  tantalizing  odor  of  frying 
ham  fat  he  fidgeted  nervously. 

Having  prepared  a  meal  to  his  liking,  Jerry  set 
the  table  with  a  single  plate,  cup,  and  saucer, 
then  seated  himself  with  a  luxurious  grunt.  He 
ate  slowly;  he  rolled  every  mouthful  with  relish; 
he  fletcherized  it  with  calculated  deliberation;  he 
paused  betweentimes  to  blow  loudly  upon  his 
coffee  and  to  smack  his  lips — sounds  that  in  them- 
selves were  a  provocation  and  an  insult  to  his 
listener.  When  he  had  cleaned  up  his  inter- 
minable repast  and  was  finishing  the  last  scrap, 
Tom  rose  and  made  for  the  stove. 

Jerry  watched  him,  paralyzed  in  mid-motion, 
until  his  partner's  hand  was  outstretched,  then 
he  suddenly  shouted: 

"Get  away  from  there!" 

Tom  started.  "What  for?"  he  queried,  a  light 
of  rebellion  flaring  into  his  eyes.  "Ain't  you 
through  with  your  supper?  You  been  at  it  long 
enough." 

"You  see  me  eatin',  don't  you?    After  I  get 

430 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

fed  up  and  my  teeth  picked  I  got  all  my  dishes  to 
wash." 

"That  wasn't  our  arrangement." 

"It  was  so." 

"You'll  eat  all  night,"  Tom  complained,  almost 
tearfully.  "You'll  set  there  and  gorge  till  you 
bust." 

"That's  my  privilege.  I  don't  aim  to  swaller 
my  grub  whole.  I'm  shy  a  few  teeth  and  some  of 
the  balance  don't  meet,  so  I  can't  consume  vittles 
like  I  was  a  pulp-mill.  I  didn't  start  this  row — " 

"Who  did?" 

"Now  ain't  that  a  fool  question?"  Jerry 
leaned  back  comfortably  and  began  an  elaborate 
vacuum-cleaning  process  of  what  teeth  he  re- 
tained. "Who  starts  all  our  rows,  if  I  don't? 
No.  I'm  as  easy-going  as  a  greased  eel,  and 
'most  anybody  can  get  along  with  me,  but,  tread 
on  my  tail  and  I  swop  ends,  pronto.  That's  me. 
I  go  my  own  even  way,  but  I  live  up  to  my  bar- 
gains and  I  see  to  it  that  others  do  the  same. 
You  get  the  hell  away  from  that  stove!" 

Tom  abandoned  his  purpose,  and  with  the 
resignation  of  a  martyr  returned  to  teeter  upon 
the  edge  of  his  bunk.  He  remained  there,  glum, 
malevolent,  watchful,  until  his  cabin-mate  had 
leisurely  cleared  the  table,  washed  and  put  away 
his  dishes;  then  with  a  sigh  of  fat  repletion,  un- 
mistakably intended  as  a  provocation,  the  tor- 
mentor lit  his  pipe  and  stretched  himself  luxuri- 
ously upon  his  bed. 

Even  then  Tom  made  no  move.     He  merely 

431 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

glowered  at  the  recumbent  figure.  Jerry  blew  a 
cloud  of  smoke,  then  waved  a  generous  gesture. 

"Now  then,  fly  at  it,  Mr.  Linton,"  he  said, 
sweetly.  "I've  et  my  fill;  I've  had  an  ample 
sufficiency^'  I'm  through  and  in  for  the  night." 

"Oh  no,  you  ain't!  You  get  up  and  wash  that 
skillet." 

Mr.  Quirk  started  guiltily. 

"Hustle  your  creaking  joints  and  scrub  it 
out." 

"Pshaw!    I  only  fried  a  slice — " 

"Scrub  it!"  Linton  ordered. 

This  command  Jerry  obeyed,  although  it  neces- 
sitated heating  more  water,  a  procedure  which,  of 
course,  he  maliciously  prolonged.  "Waited  till  I 
was  all  spread  out,  didn't  you,"  he  sneered,  as 
he  stooped  over  the  wood-box.  "That's  like  you. 
Some  people  are  so  small-calibered  they'd  rattle 
around  in  a  gnat's  bladder  like  a  mustard  seed  in 
a  bass  drum." 

"I'm  particular  who  I  eat  after,"  Tom  said, 
"so  be  sure  you  scrub  it  clean." 

"Thought  you'd  spoil  my  smoke.  Well,  I  can 
smoke  standin'  on  my  head  and  enjoy  it."  There 
was  a  silence,  broken  only  by  the  sound  of  Jerry's 
labors.  At  last  he  spoke:  "Once  again  I  repeat 
what  I  told  you  yesterday.  I  took  the  words 
out  of  your  own  mouth.  You  said  the  woman 
was  a  hellion — " 

"I  never  did.  Even  if  I  had  I  wouldn't  allow 
a  comparative  stranger  to  apply  such  an  epithet 
to  a  member  of  my  family." 

432 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"You  did  say  it.  And  she  ain't  a  member  of 
your  family." 

Tom's  jaws  snapped.  "If  patience  is  a  vir- 
tue," he  declared,  in  quivering  anger,  "I'll  slide 
into  heaven  on  skids.  Assassination  ought  not 
to  be  a  crime;  it's  warranted,  like  abating  a  nui- 
sance; it  ain't  even  a  misdemeanor — sometimes. 
She  was  a  noble  woman — " 

"Hellion!  I  got  it  on  the  authority  of  her  own 
husband — you !" 

Tom  rose  and  stamped  over  to  the  stove;  he 
slammed  its  door  and  clattered  the  coffee-pot  to 
drown  this  hateful  persistence.  Having  had  the 
last  word,  as  usual,  Jerry  retreated  in  satisfaction 
to  his  bed  and  stretched  his  aching  frame  upon  it. 

The  dingy  cabin  was  fragrant  with  the  odor  of 
cooking  food  for  a  second  time  that  evening  when 
the  sound  of  voices  and  a  knock  at  the  door 
brought  both  old  men  to  their  feet. 

Before  they  could  answer,  the  door  flew  open 
and  in  and  out  of  the  frosty  evening  came  Rouletta 
Kirby  and  Toleon  Doret.  The  girl's  cheeks  were 
rosy,  her  eyes  were  sparkling;  she  warmly  greeted 
first  one  partner,  then  the  other.  Pausing,  she 
sniffed  the  air  hungrily. 

"Goody!"  she  cried.  "We're  just  in  time. 
And  we're  as  hungry  as  bears." 

"Dis  gal  'ain't  never  got  'nough  to  eat  since 
she's  seeck  in  W'ite  'Orse,"  'Poleon  laughed.  "For 
las'  hour  she's  been  sayin':  'Hurry!  Hurry! 
We  goin'  be  late.'  I  'mos'  keel  dem  dog." 

Linton's  seamed  face  softened;  it  cracked  into 

433 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

a  smile  of  genuine  pleasure;  there  was  real 
hospitality  and  welcome  in  his  voice  when  he 
said: 

"You're  in  luck,  for  sure.  Lay  off  your  things 
and  pull  up  to  the  fire.  It  won't  take  a  jiffy  to 
parlay  the  ham  and  coffee — one  calls  three,  as 
they  say.  No  need  to  ask  if  you're  well;  you're 
prettier  than  ever,  and  some  folks  would  call 
that  impossible." 

Jerry  nodded  in  vigorous  agreement.  "You're 
as  sweet  as  a  bunch  of  jessamine,  Letty.  Why, 
you're  like  a  breath  of  spring!  What  brought 
you  out  to  see  us,  anyhow?" 

"Dat's  long  story,"  Toleon  answered.  "Sapre! 
We  got  plenty  talkin'  to  do.  Letty  she's  goin' 
he'p  you  mak'  de  supper  now,  an'  I  fix  dem  dog. 
We  goin'  camp  wit'  you  all  night.  GoUy!  We 
have  beeg  tarn." 

The  new-comers  had  indeed  introduced  a 
breath  of  new,  clean  air.  Of  a  sudden  the  cabin 
had  brightened,  it  was  vitalized,  it  was  filled  with 
a  magic  purpose  and  good  humor.  Rouletta  flung 
aside  her  furs  and  bustled  into  the  supper  prep- 
arations. Soon  the  meal  was  ready.  The  first 
pause  in  her  chatter  came  when  she  set  the  table 
for  four  and  when  Jerry  protested  that  he  had 
already  dined. 

The  girl  paused,  plate  in  hand.  "Then  we  were 
late  and  you  didn't  tell  us,"  she  pouted,  reproach- 
fully. 

"No.  I  got  through  early,  but  Tom — he  was 
held  up  in  the  traffic.  You  see,  I  don't  eat  much, 

434 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

anyhow.     I  just  nibble  around  and  take  a  cold 
snack  where  I  can  get  it." 

"And  you  let  him!"  Rouletta  turned  to  chide 
the  other  partner.  "  He'll  come  down  sick,  Tom 
and  you'll  have  to  nurse  him  again.  If  you  boys 
won't  learn  to  keep  regular  meal  hours  I'll  have 
to  come  out  and  run  your  house  for  you.  Shall  I? 
Speak  up.  What  am  I  offered?" 

Now  this  was  the  most  insidious  flattery. 
"Boys"  indeed!  Jerry  chuckled,  Tom  looked  up 
from  the  stove  and  his  smoke-blue  eyes  were 
twinkling. 

"I  can't  offer  you  more  'n  a  half -interest  in  the 
'lay.'  That's  aU  I  own." 

"Is  dis  claim  so  reech  lak  people  say?"  'Poleon 
inquired.  "Dey're  tellin'  me  you  goin'  mak' 
hondred  t'ousan'  dollar." 

"We're  just  breastin'  out — cross-cuttin'  the 
streak,  but — looky."  Jerry  removed  a  baking- 
powder  can  from  the  window-shelf  and  out  of  it 
he  poured  a  considerable  amount  of  coarse  gold 
which  the  visitors  examined  with  intense  interest. 
"Them's  our  pannin's." 

"How  splendid!"  Rouletta  cned. 

"I  been  clamorin'  to  hire  some  men  and  take 
Me  easy.  I  say  put  on  a  gang  and  h'ist  it  out, 
but" — Jerry  shot  a  glance  at  his  partner — "peo- 
ple tell  me  I'm  vi'lent  an'  headstrong.  They  say, 
Trove  it  up."; 

Linton  interrupted  by  loudly  exclaiming,  "Come 
and  get  it,  strangers,  or  I'll  throw  it  out  and 
wash  the  skillet." 

435 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Supper  was  welcome,  but,  despite  the  diners' 
preoccupation  with  it,  despite  Tom's  and  Jerry's 
effort  to  conceal  the  fact  of  their  estrangement, 
it  became  evident  that  something  was  amiss. 
Rouletta  finally  sat  back  and,  with  an  accusing 
glance,  demanded  to  know  what  was  the  matter. 

The  old  men  met  her  eyes  with  an  assumption 
of  blank  astonishment.  \ 

"'Fess  up,"  she  persisted.  "Have  you  boys 
been  quarreling  again?" 

"Who?    Us?    Why,  not  exactly—" 

"We  sort  of  had  words,  mebbe." 

"What  about?" 

There  was  an  awkward,  an  ominous  silence. 
"That,"  Mr.  Linton  said,  in  a  harsh  and  firm 
voice,  "is  something  I  can't  discuss.  It's  a  per- 
sonal matter." 

"It  ain't  personal  with  me,"  Jerry  announced, 
carelessly.  "We  was  talkin'  about  Tom's  mar- 
ried life  and  I  happened  to  say— 

''Don't!"  Linton's  cry  of  warning  held  a  threat. 
"Don't  spill  your  indecencies  in  the  presence  of  this 
child  or — I'll  hang  the  frying-pan  around  your 
neck.  The  truth  is,"  he  told  Letty,  "there's  no 
use  trying  to  live  with  a  horn'  toad.  I've  done 
my  best.  I've  let  him  defame  me  to  my  face  and 
degrade  me  before  strangers,  but  he  remains 
hostyle  to  every  impulse  in  my  being;  he  picks 
and  pesters  and  poisons  me  a  thousand  times  a 
day.  And  snore!  My  God!  You  ought  to  hear 
him  at  night." 

Strangely  enough,  Mr.  Quirk  did  not  react  to 

436 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

tliis  passionate  outburst.  On  the  contrary,  he 
bore  it  with  indications  of  a  deep  and  genuine 
satisfaction. 

"He's  workin'  up  steam  to  propose  another 
divorce,"  said  the  object  of  Tom's  tirade. 

"That  I  am.  Divorce  is  the  word,"  Linton 
growled. 

"  Whoop-eel' '  Jerry  uttered  a  high-pitched 
shout.  "I  been  waitin'  for  that.  I  wanted  him 
to  say  it.  Now  I'm  free  as  air  and  twice  as  light. 
You  heard  him  propose  it,  didn't  you?" 

"Wat  you  goin'  do  'bout  dis  lay?"  Toleon 
inquired. 

"Split  her,"  yelled  Jerry. 

"Dis  cabin,  too?" 

"Sure.     Slam  a  partition  right  through  her." 

"We  won't  slam  no  partition  anywhere,"  Tom 
declared.  "Think  I'm  going  to  lay  awake  every 
night  listening  to  distant  bugles?  No.  We'll  pull 
her  apart,  limb  from  limb,  and  diwy  the  logs. 
It's  a  pest-house,  anyhow.  I'll  burn  my  share." 

Tom's  positive  refusal  even  to  permit  mention 
of  the  cause  of  the  quarrel  rendered  efforts  at  a 
reconciliation  difficult;  Toleon's  and  Rouletta's 
attempts  at  badinage,  therefore,  were  weak  fail- 
ures, and  their  conversation  met  with  only  the 
barest  politeness.  Now  that  the  truth  had  es- 
caped, neither  partner  could  bring  himself  to  a 
serious  consideration  of  anything  except  his  own 
injuries.  They  exchanged  evil  glances,  they  came 
into  direct  verbal  contact  only  seldom,  and  when 

they  did  it  was  to  clash  as  flint  upon  steel.    No 

437 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

statement  of  the  one  was  sufficiently  conservative, 
sufficiently  broad,  to  escape  a  sneer  and  an  im- 
mediate refutation  from  the  other.  Evidently 
the  rift  was  deep  and  was  widening  rapidly. 

Of  course  the  facts  were  revealed  eventually — • 
Rouletta  had  a  way  of  winning  confidences,  a 
subtle,  sweet  persuasiveness — they  had  to  do 
with  the  former  Mrs.  Linton,  that  shadowy 
female  figure  which  had  fallen  athwart  Tom's 
early  life.  It  seemed  that  Jerry  had  referred  to 
her  as  a  " hellion." 

Now  the  injured  husband  himself  had  often  ap- 
plied even  more  disparaging  terms  to  the  lady  in 
question,  therefore  the  visitors  were  puzzled  at 
his  show  of  rabid  resentment;  the  most  they 
could  make  out  of  it  was  that  he  claimed  the  right 
of  disparagement  as  a  personal  and  exclusive 
privilege,  and  considered  detraction  out  of  the 
lips  of  another  a  trespass  upon  his  intimate  private 
affairs,  an  aspersion  and  an  insult.  The  wife  of 
a  man's  bosom,  he  averred,  was  sacred;  any 
creature  who  breathed  disrespect  of  her  into  the 
ears  of  her  husband  was  lower  than  a  hole  in  the 
ground  and  lacked  the  .Qrst  qualifications  of  a 
friend,  a  gentleman,  or  a  citizen. 

Jerry,  on  the  other  hand,  would  not  look  at  the 
matter  in  this  light.  Tom  had  called  the  woman 
a  "hellion,"  therefore  he  was  privileged  to  do 
the  same,  and  any  denial  of  that  privilege  was  an 
iniquitous  encroachment  upon  his  sacred  rights. 
Those  rights  he  proposed  to  safeguard,  to  fight 
for  if  necessary.  He  would  shed  his  last  drop  of 

438 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

blood  in  their  defense.  No  cantankerous  old 
grouch  could  refuse  him  free  speech  and  get  away 
with  it. 

"You're  not  really  mad  at  each  other,"  Rouletta 
told  them. 

"Ain't  we?"  they  hoarsely  chorused. 

She  shook  her  head.  "You  need  a  change, 
that's  all.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  your  devotion  to 
each  other  is  about  the  most  beautiful,  the  most 
touching,  thing  I  know.  You'd  lay  down  your 
lives  for  each  other;  you're  like  man  and  wife, 
and  well  you  know  it." 

"Who?  Us?"  Jerry  was  aghast.  "Which  one 
of  us  is  the  woman?  I  been  insulted  by  experts, 
but  none  of  'em  ever  called  me  'Mrs.  Linton.' 
She  was  a  tough  customer,  a  regular  hellion — " 

"He's  off  again!"  Tom  growled.  "Me  lay 
down  my  life  for  a  squawking  parrot!  He'll  re- 
peat that  pet  word  for  the  rest  of  time  if  I  don't 
wring  his  neck." 

"Mebbe  so  you  lak  hear  'bout  some  other  fel- 
ler's trouble,"  'Poleon  broke  in,  diplomatically. 
"Wai,  ma  sceur  she's  come  to  you  for  help,  queeck." 

Both  old  men  became  instantly  alert.  "You 
in  trouble?"  Tom  demanded  of  the  girl.  "Who's 
been  hurting  you,  I'd  like  to  know?" 

Jerry,  too,  leaned  forward,  and  into  his  widen- 
ing eyes  came  a  stormy  look.  "Sure!  Has  one 
of  them  crawlin'  worms  got  fresh  with  you,  Letty? 
Say — !"  He  reached  up  and  removed  his  six- 
shooter  from  its  nail  over  his  bed. 

Rouletta  set  them  upon  the  right  track.    Swift- 

430 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

ly  but  earnestly  she  recited  the  nature  and  the 
circumstances  of  the  misfortune  that  had  over- 
taken Pierce  Phillips,  and  of  the  fruitless  efforts 
his  friends  were  making  in  his  behalf.  She  con- 
cluded by  asking  her  hearers  to  go  his  bail. 

"Why,  sure!"  Linton  exclaimed,  with  manifest 
relief.  "That's  easy.  I'll  go  it,  if  they'll  take 
me." 

"There  you  are,  hoggin'  the  curtain,  as  usual," 
Jerry  protested.  "I'll  go  his  bail  myself.  I  got 
him  in  trouble  at  Sheep  Camp.  I  owe  him — 

"I've  known  the  boy  longer  than  you  have. 
Besides,  I'm  a  family  man;  I  know  the  anguish 
of  a  parent's  heart — 

"Lay  off  that  'family'  stuff,"  howled  Mr.  Quirk. 
"You  know  it  riles  me.  I  could  of  had  as  much 
of  a  family  as  you  had  if  I'd  wanted  to.  You'd 
think  it  give  you  some  sort  of  privilege.  Why, 
ever  since  we  set  up  with  Letty  you've  assumed 
a  fatherly  air  even  to  her,  and  you  act  like  I  was 
a  plumb  outsider.  You  remind  me  of  a  hen — 
settin'  on  every  loose  door-knob  you  find." 

"If  you'd  lay  off  the  'family'  subject  we'd  get 
along  better." 

Once  again  the  fray  was  on;  it  raged  inter- 
mittently throughout  the  evening;  it  did  not  die 
out  until  bedtime  put  an  end  to  it. 

Rouletta  and  her  three  companions  were  late 
in  reaching  town  on  the  following  day,  for  they 
awakened  to  find  a  storm  raging,  and  in  conse- 
quence the  trails  were  heavy.  Out  of  this  white 

440 


THE   WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

smother  they  plodded  just  as  the  lights  of  Dawson 
were  beginning  to  gleam.  Leaving  the  men  at 
the  Barracks,  the  girl  proceeded  to  her  hotel. 
She  had  changed  out  of  her  trail  clothes  and  was 
upon  the  point  of  hurrying  down-town  to  her  work 
when  she  encountered  Hilda  Courteau. 

"Where  in  the  world  have  you  been?"  the  latter 
inquired. 

"Nowhere,  in  the  world,"  Rouletta  smiled. 
"I've  been  quite  out  of  it."  Then  she  told  of  her 
and  'Poleon's  trip  to  the  mines  and  of  their  suc- 
cess. "Pierce  will  be  at  liberty  inside  of  an 
hour,"  she  declared. 

"Well,  I've— learned  the  truth." 

Rouletta  started;  eagerly  she  clutched  at  the 
elder  woman.  "What?  You  mean — ?" 

"Yes.  I  wrung  it  out  of  Courteau.  He  con- 
fessed." 

"It  was  a  frame-up — a  plot?    Oh,  my  dear — !" 

"Exactly.  But  don't  get  hysterical.  I'm  the 
one  to  do  that.  What  a  night,  what  a  day  I've  put 
in !"  The  speaker  shuddered,  and  Rouletta  noticed 
for  the  first  time  how  pale,  how  ill  she  looked. 

"Then  Pierce  is  free  already?    He's  out — ?" 

"Not  yet.  I'll  tell  you  everything  if  you'll 
promise  not  to  breathe  a  word,  not  to  interfere 
until  Henri  has  a  chance  to  square  himself.  I — 
think  I've  earned  the  right  to  demand  that  much. 
I  told  you  the  whole  thing  was  counterfeit — was 
the  work  of  Joe  McCaskey.  I  couldn't  believe 
Henri  was  up  to  such  villainy.  He's  dissolute, 
weak,  vain — anything  you  choose — but  he's  not 

441 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

voluntarily  criminal.  Well,  I  went  to  work  on 
him.  I  pretended  to — "  the  Countess  again 
shivered  with  disgust.  "Oh,  you  saw  what  I 
was  doing.  I  hated  myself,  but  there  was  no 
choice.  Things  came  to  a  climax  last  night.  I 
don't  like  to  talk  about  it — think  about  it — but 
you're  bound  to  hear.  I  consented  to  go  out  with 
him.  He  dragged  me  through  the  dance-halls 
and  the  saloons — made  me  drink  with  him,  pub- 
licly, and  with  the  scum  of  the  town."  Noting 
the  expression  on  her  hearer's  face,  the  Countess 
laughed  shortly,  mirthlessly.  "  Shocking,  wasn't 
it?  Low,  indecent,  wretched?  That's  what  every- 
body is  saying.  Dawson  is  humming  with  it. 
God)  How  he  humiliated  me!  But  I  loosened 
his  tongue.  I  got  most  of  the  details — not  all, 
but  enough.  It  was  late,  almost  daylight,  be- 
fore I  succeeded.  He  slept  all  day,  stupefied,  and 
so  did  I,  when  I  wasn't  too  ill. 

"He  remembered  something  about  it,  he  had 
some  shadowy  recollection  of  talking  too  much. 
When  he  woke  up  he  sent  for  me.  Then  we  had 
it.  He  denied  everything,  of  course.  He  lied 
and  he  twisted,  but  I'm  the  stronger — always  have 
been.  I  beat  him  down,  as  usual.  I  could  have 
felt  sorry  for  the  poor  wretch  only  for  what  he 
had  put  me  through.  He  went  out  not  long  ago." 

"Where  to?    Tell  me— 

"To  the  Police — to  Colonel  Cavendish.  I  gave 
him  the  chance  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  every- 
thing and  save  his  hide,  if  possible.  If  he  weakens 
I'll  take  the  bit  in  my  teeth." 

442 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

Rouletta  stood  motionless  for  a  moment;  then 
in  deep  emotion  she  exclaimed:  "I'm  so  glad! 
And  yet  it  must  have  been  a  terrible  sacrifice.  I 
think  I  understand  how  you  must  loathe  your- 
self. It  was  a  very  generous  thing  to  do,  however. 
Not  many  women  could  have  risen  to  it." 

"I — hope  he  doesn't  make  me  tell.  I  haven't 
much  pride  left,  but — I'd  like  to  save  what  re- 
mains, for  you  can  imagine  what  Cavendish  will 
think.  A  wife  betraying  her  husband  for  her — 
for  another  man !  What  a  story  for  those  women 
on  the  hill!" 

Impulsively  Rouletta  bent  forward  and  kissed 
the  speaker.  "Colonel  Cavendish  will  understand. 
He's  a  man  of  honor.  But,  after  all,  when  a  woman 
really — cares,  there's  a  satisfaction,  a  compensa- 
tion, in  sacrifice,  no  matter  how  great." 

Hilda  Courteau's  eyes  were  misty,  their  dark- 
fringed  lids  trembled  wearily  shut.  "Yes,"  she 
nodded,  "I  suppose  so.  Bitter  and  sweet!  When 
a  woman  of  my  sort,  my  age  and  experience,  lets 
herself  really  care,  she  tastes  both.  All  I  can 
hope  is  that  Pierce  never  learns  what  he  made 
me  pay  for  loving  him.  He  wouldn't  understand 
—yet."  She  opened  her  eyes  again  and  met  the 
earnest  gaze  bent  upon  her.  '  *  I  dare  say  you  think 
I  feel  the  same  toward  him  as  you  do,  that  I  want 
him,  that  I'm  hungiy  for  him.  Well,  I'm  not. 
I'm  'way  past  that.  I've  been  through  fire,  and 
fire  purifies.  Now  run  along,  child.  I'm  sure 
everything  will  come  out  right." 

The    earlier    snowfall    had    diminished    when 

29  443 


THE   WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

Rouletta  stepped  out  into  the  night,  but  a  gusty, 
boisterous  wind  had  risen  and  this  filled  the  air 
with  blinding  clouds  of  fine,  hard  particles,  whirled 
up  from  the  streets,  and  the  girl  was  forced  to 
wade  through  newly  formed  drifts  that  rose  over 
the  sidewalks,  in  places  nearly  to  her  knees.  The 
wind  flapped  her  garments  and  cut  her  bare 
cheeks  like  a  knife;  when  she  pushed  her  way  into 
the  Rialto  and  stamped  the  snow  from  her  feet 
her  face  was  wet  with  tears;  but  they  were  frost 
tears.  She  dried  them  quickly  and  with  a  song 
in  her  heart  she  hurried  back  to  the  lunch-counter 
and  climbed  upon  her  favorite  stool.  There  it 
was  that  Doret  and  his  two  elderly  companions 
found  her. 

"Well,  we  sprung  him,"  Tom  announced. 

"All  we  done  was  sign  on  the  dotted  line," 
Jerry  explained.  "But,  say,  if  that  boy  hops 
out  of  town  he'll  cost  us  a  lot  of  money." 

"How's  he  going  to  hop  out?"  Tom  demanded. 
"That's  the  hell  of  this  country — there's  no 
getting  away." 

Jerry  snorted  derisively.  "No  gettin'  away? 
What  are  you  talkin'  about?  Ain't  the  Boun- 
dary within  ninety  miles?  'Ain't  plenty  of  peo- 
ple made  get-aways?  All  they  need  is  a  dog- 
team  and  a  few  hours'  start  of  the  Police." 

"Everyt'ing's  all  fix',"  Toleon  told  his  sister. 
"I  had  talk  wit'  Pierce.  He  ain't  comin'  back 
here  no  more." 

"Not  coming  back?"  the  girl  exclaimed. 

Doret  met  her  startled  gaze.     "Not  in  dis  kin' 

444 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

of  place.  He's  cut  'em  out  for  good.  I  mak' 
him  promise." 

"A  touch  of  jail  ain't  a  bad  thing  for  a  harum- 
scarum  kid,"  Tom  volunteered,  as  he  finished 
giving  his  supper  order.  "It's  a  cold  compress — 
takes  down  the  fever — " 

"Nothing  of  the  sort,"  Jerry  asserted.  "Jails 
is  a  total  waste  of  time.  I  don't  believe  in  'em. 
You  think  this  boy's  tamed,  do  you?  Well,  I 
talked  with  him,  an'  all  I  got  to  say  is  this :  keep 
Courteau  away  from  him  or  there's  one  Count 
you'll  lose  count  of.  The  boy's  got  pizen  in  him, 
an'  I  don't  blame  him  none.  If  I  was  him  I'd 
make  that  Frog  hop.  You  hear  me." 

'Poleon  met  Rouletta's  worried  glance  with  a 
reassuring  smile.  "I  been  t'inkin'  'bout  dat,  too. 
Wat  you  say  I  go  pardners  wit'  him,  eh?  I  got 
dog-team  an'  fine  claim  on  hilltop.  S'pose  I 
geeve  him  half-interes'  to  go  wit'  me?" 

"Will  you?"  eagerly  queried  the  girl. 

"Already  I  spoke  it  to  him.  He  say  mebbe 
so,  but  firs'  he's  got  li'l  biznesse  here." 

' '  Of  course !  His  case.  But  that  will  be  cleared 
up.  Mark  what  I  say.  Yes" — Rouletta  nodded 
happily — "take  him  with  you,  'Poleon — out  where 
things  are  clean  and  healthy  and  where  he  can 
get  a  new  start.  Oh,  you  make  me  very  happy!" 

The  woodsman  laid  a  big  hand  gently  over 
hers.  In  a  low  voice  he  murmured:  "Dat's  all  I 
want,  ma  sceur — to  mak'  you  happy.  If  dat 
claim  is  wort'  million  dollar'  it  ain't  too  much  to 
pay,  but — I'm  scare'  she's  'noder  bum." 

445 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

The  song  was  still  sounding  in  Rouletta's  heart 
when  she  sat  down  at  the  faro-table,  and  all 
through  the  evening  it  seemed  to  her  that  the 
revelry  round  about  was  but  an  echo  of  her  glad- 
ness. Pierce  was  free,  his  name  was  clean.  Prob- 
ably ere  this  the  whole  truth  was  known  to  the 
Mounted  Police  and  by  to-morrow  it  would  be 
made  public. 

Moreover,  he  and  'Poleon  were  to  be  partners. 
That  generous  woodsman,  because  of  his  affection 
for  her,  proposed  to  take  the  young  fellow  into 
his  heart  and  make  a  man  of  him.  That  was  like 
him — always  giving  much  and  taking  little.  Well, 
she  was  'Poleon's  sister.  Who  could  tell  what 
might  result  from  this  new  union  of  interests? 
Of  course,  there  was  no  pay  out  there  on  that 
mountain-crest,  but  hard  work,  honest  poverty, 
an  end  of  these  demoralizing  surroundings  were 
bound  to  affect  Pierce  only  for  the  better.  Rou- 
letta  blessed  the  name  of  Hilda  Courteau,  who 
had  made  this  possible,  and  of  'Poleon  Doret, 
too — 'Poleon  of  the  great  heart,  who  loved  her 
so  sincerely,  so  unselfishly.  He  never  failed  her; 
he  was  a  brother,  truly — the  best,  the  cheeriest, 
the  most  loyal  hi  the  world.  Rouletta  was 
amazed  to  realize  what  a  part  in  her  life  the 
French  Canadian  had  played.  His  sincere  affec- 
tion was  about  the  biggest  thing  that  had  come 
to  her,  so  it  seemed. 

Occupied  with  such  comforting  thoughts,  Rou- 
letta failed  to  note  that  the  evening  had  passed 
more  quickly  than  usual  and  that  it  was  after 

446 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

midnight.  When  she  did  realize  that  fact,  she 
wondered  what  could  have  detained  Lucky  Broad. 
Promptness  was  a  habit  with  him;  he  and  Bridges 
usually  reported  at  least  a  half -hour  ahead  of  time. 

She  caught  sight  of  the  pair,  finally,  through 
the  wide  archway,  and  saw  that  they  were  sur- 
rounded by  an  excited  crowd,  a  crowd  that  grew 
swiftly  as  some  whisper,  some  intelligence,  spread 
with  electric  rapidity  through  the  barroom. 
Yielding  to  a  premonition  that  something  was 
amiss,  Rouletta  asked  the  lookout  to  relieve  her, 
and,  rising,  she  hurried  into  the  other  hall.  Even 
before  she  had  come  within  sound  of  Lucky's 
voice  the  cause  of  the  general  excitement  was 
made  known  to  her.  It  came  in  the  form  of  an 
exclamation,  a  word  or  two  snatched  out  of  the 
air.  "Courteau!"  "Dead!"  "Shot— back  street 
— body  just  found!" 

Fiercely  Rouletta  fought  her  way  through  the 
press,  an  unvoiced  question  trembling  upon  her 
lips.  Broad  turned  at  her  first  touch. 

"Tough,  ain't  it?"  said  he.  "Me  and  the  Kid 
stumbled  right  over  him — kicked  him  out  of  the 
snow.  We  thought  he'd  been  froze." 

"We  never  dreamed  he'd  been  shot  till  we  got 
him  clean  down  to  the  drug-store,"  Bridges  sup- 
plemented. "Shot  in  the  back,  too." 

Questions  were  flying  back  and  forth  now. 
Profiting  by  the  confusion,  Rouletta  dragged 
Broad  aside  and  queried,  breathlessly: 

"Was  he  dead— quite  dead—?" 

"Oh,  sure!" 

VI 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

"Who — shot  him?"  The  question  came  with 
difficulty.  Lucky  stared  at  his  interrogator  queer- 
ly,  then  he  shrugged. 

"Quien  sabe?  Nobody  seen  or  heard  the  shoot- 
ing. He'd  been  croaked  a  long  while  when  we 
found  him." 

For  a  moment  the  two  eyed  each  other  silently. 
"Do  you  think — ?"  Rouletta  turned  her  white 
face  toward  the  cashier's  cage. 

"More  'n  likely.  He  was  bitter — he  made  a 
lot  of  cracks  around  the  Barracks.  The  first 
thing  the  Police  said  when  we  notified  'em  was, 
'Where's  Phillips?'  We  didn't  know  the  boy  was 
out  until  that  very  minute  or — we'd  'a'  done  dif- 
ferent. We'd  'a'  left  the  Count  in  the  drift  and 
run  Phillips  down  and  framed  an  alibi.  Think 
of  us,  his  pals,  turnin'  up  the  evidence!"  Lucky 
breathed  an  oath. 

"Oh,  why—?"  moaned  the  girl.  "He—  It 
was  so  useless.  Everything  was  all  right.  Per- 
haps— after  all,  he  dicLn't  do  it." 

"You  know  him  as  well  as  I  do.  I'm  hoping 
he  had  better  sense,  but — he's  got  a  temper.  He 
was  always  talking  about  the  disgrace." 

"Has  he  gone?  Can't  you  help  him?  He 
might  make  the  Boundary — " 

Broad  shook  his  head.  "No  use.  It's  too 
late  for  that.  If  he's  still  here  me  'n'  the  Kid  will 
do  our  best  to  swear  him  out  of  it." 

Rouletta  swayed,  she  groped  blindly  at  the 
bar  rail  for  support,  whereupon  her  companion 
cried  in  a  low  voice: 

448 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Here!  Brace  up,  or  you'll  tip  it  all  off!  If 
he  stands  pat,  how  they  going  to  prove  anything? 
The  Count's  been  dead  for  hours.  He  was  all 
drifted—" 

Broad  was  interrupted  by  the  Mocha  Kid,  who 
entered  out  of  the  night  at  that  instant  with  the 
announcement:  "Well,  they  got  him!  Rock 
found  him,  and  he  denies  it,  but  they've  got  him 
at  the  Barracks,  puttin'  him  through  the  third 
degree.  I  don't  mind  sayin'  that  Frenchman 
needed  croakin',  bad,  and  they'd  ought  to  give 
Phillips  a  vote  of  thanks  and  a  bronx  tablet." 

Mocha's  words  added  to  Rouletta's  terror,  for 
it  showed  that  other  minds  ran  as  did  hers. 
Already,  it  seemed  to  her,  Pierce  Phillips  had  been 
adjudged  guilty.  Through  the  murk  of  fright, 
of  apprehension  in  which  her  thoughts  were  rac- 
ing there  came  a  name — 'Poleon  Doret.  Here  was 
deep  trouble,  grave  peril,  a  threat  to  her  new- 
found happiness.  Toleon,  her  brother,  would 
know  what  to  do,  for  his  head  was  clear,  his  judg- 
ment was  unerring.  He  never  failed  her.  Blindly 
she  ran  for  her  wraps,  hurriedly  she  flung  them  on, 
then  plunged  out  into  the  night.  As  she  scurried 
through  the  street,  panic-stricken,  beset,  one 
man's  name  was  hi  her  thoughts,  but  another's 
was  upon  her  lips.  Over  and  over  she  kept 
repeating: 

"Toleon!    Oh,  Toleon!" 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

HPHE  news  of  Count  Courteau's  death  traveled 
A  fast.  'Poleon  Doret  was  not  long  in  hear- 
ing of  it,  and  of  course  he  went  at  once  in  search 
of  Rouletta.  By  the  time  he  found  her  the  girl's 
momentary  panic  had  been  succeeded  by  a  quite 
unnatural  self-possession;  her  perturbation  had 
changed  to  an  intense  but  governable  agitation, 
and  her  mind  was  working  with  a  clarity  and  a 
rapidity  more  than  normal.  This  power  of  rising 
to  an  emergency  she  had  doubtless  inherited  from 
her  father.  "One-armed"  Kirby  had  been  a 
man  of  resource,  and,  so  long  as  he  remained 
sober,  he  had  never  lost  his  head.  Swiftly  the 
girl  told  of  the  instant  suspicion  that  had  attached 
to  Phillips  and  of  his  prompt  apprehension. 

"Who  done  dat  shootin'  if  he  don't?"  Doret 
inquired,  quickly. 

"Joe  McCaskey — or  Frank,"  Rouletta  answered 
with  positiveness.  'Poleon  started.  Through  the 
gloom  he  stared  incredulously  at  the  speaker. 

"I'm  sure  of  it,  now  that  I've  had  time  to 
think,"  the  girl  declared.  "That's  why  I  ran 
for  you.  Now  listen!  I  promised  not  to  tell 
this,  but — I  must.  Courteau  confessed  to  his 

450 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

wife  that  he  and  the  McCaskeys  trumped  up  that 
charge  against  Pierce.  They  paid  Courteau  well 
for  his  part — or  they  promised  to — and  he  per- 
jured himself,  as  did  they.  Hilda  got  the  truth 
out  of  him  while  he  was  drunk.  Of  course  he 
denied  it  later,  but  she  broke  him  down,  and  this 
evening,  just  before  we  got  home,  he  promised 
to  go  to  Colonel  Cavendish  and  make  a  clean 
breast  of  everything.  He  went  out  for  that  pur- 
pose, but — evidently  he  lacked  courage  to  go 
through  with  it.  Otherwise  how  did  he  come 
to  be  on  the  back  streets?  The  McCaskeys  live 
somewhere  back  yonder,  don't  they?" 

"Sure!"  Toleon  meditated,  briefly.  "Mebbe 
so  you're  right,"  he  said,  finally. 

" I  know  I'm  right,"  Rouletta  cried.  "The  first 
thing  to  do  is  find  them.  Where  are  they?" 

"I  don'  see  'em  no  place." 

"Then  we  must  tell  the  colonel  to  look  them 
up." 

But  Doret's  brows  remained  puckered  hi 
thought.  "Wait!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  got  idea 
of  my  own.  If  dem  feller  kill  Courteau  dey 
ain't  nowheres  roun'  here.  Dey  beat  it,  firs' 
t'ing." 

"To  Hunker?    Perhaps—" 

"No.  For  de  Boun'ry."  'Poleon  slapped  his 
thigh  in  sudden  enlightenment.  "By  golly!  Dat's 
why  I  don'  see  'em  no  place.  You  stay  here.  I 
mak'  sure." 

He  turned  and  strode  away,  but  Rouletta  fol- 
lowed at  his  heels. 

451 


THE    WINDS    OP    CHANCE 

"I'm  going,  too,"  she  stoutly  asserted.  "Don't 
argue.  I'll  bet  ten  to  one  we  find  their  cabin 
empty." 

Together  they  made  their  way  rapidly  out  of 
the  brightly  illuminated  portion  of  the  town  and 
into  the  maze  of  blank  warehouses  and  snow- 
banked  cabins  which  lay  behind.  At  this  hour 
of  the  night  few  lamps  were  burning  even  in 
private  residences,  and,  inasmuch  as  these  back 
streets  were  unlighted,  the  travelers  had  to  feel 
their  way.  The  wind  was  diminishing,  but  even 
yet  the  air  was  thick  with  flying  flakes,  and  new 
drifts  seriously  impeded  progress.  Wading  knee- 
deep  in  places,  stumbling  in  and  out  of  cuts  where 
the  late  snow  had  been  removed,  clambering 
over  treacherous  slopes  where  other  snows  lay 
hard  packed  and  slippery,  the  two  pursued  their 
course. 

Toleon  came  to  a  pause  at  length  in  the  shelter 
of  a  pole  provision-cache  and  indistinctly  took  his 
bearings.  Silently  he  pointed  to  the  premises 
and  vigorously  nodded  his  head;  then  he  craned 
his  neck  for  a  view  of  the  stove-pipe  overhead. 
Neither  sparks  nor  smoke  nor  heat  was  rising 
from  it.  After  a  cautious  journey  of  exploration 
he  returned  to  Rouletta  and  spoke  aloud: 

"Dey  gone.     Sled,  dogs,  ever't'ing  gone." 

He  pushed  open  the  cache  door,  and  a  moment 
later  there  came  the  sound  of  rending  wood  as 
he  shouldered  his  way  into  the  dark  cabin,  re- 
gardless of  lock  and  bar.  Rouletta  was  close 
behind  him  when  he  struck  a  match  and  held  it 

452 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

to  a  candle  which  he  discovered  fixed  in  its  own 
wax  beside  the  window. 

Curiously  the  interlopers  surveyed  the  un- 
familiar premises.  Rouletta  spoke  first,  with 
suppressed  excitement: 

"You  were  right.  And  they  left  in  a  hurry, 
too." 

"Sure.  Beddin'  gone,  an' — dey  got  plenty 
beddin'  on  Hunker.  Here  dey  mak'  grub-pack, 
see?"  'Poleon  ran  his  finger  through  a  white 
dust  of  flour  which  lay  thick  upon  the  table. 
Striding  to  the  stove,  he  laid  his  hand  upon  it; 
he  lifted  the  lid  and  felt  of  the  ashes  within. 
"Dey  lef  'bout  five  hour'  ago.  Wai,  dat's  beeg 
start.  I  guess  mebbe  dey  safe  enough." 

"Don't  say  that,"  Rouletta  implored.  "Rock 
can  overtake  them.  He's  a  famous  traveler." 

"I  dunno.     Dey  got  good  team — " 

"He  must  catch  them!  Why,  he  has  ninety 
miles  to  do  it  in!  He  must,  'Poleon,  he  must!  Of 
course  this  is  evidence,  but  it  isn't  proof.  Remem- 
ber, Pierce  talked  wildly.  People  are  prejudiced 
against  him  and — you  know  the  Police.  They 
act  on  suspicion,  and  circumstances  are  certainly 
strong.  Poor  boy!  If  these  men  get  away — 
who  knows  what  may  happen  to  him?  I  tell  you 
his  very  life  may  be  in  danger,  for  the  law  is  an 
awful  thing.  I — I've  always  been  afraid  of  it. 
So  was  father,  to  his  dying  day.  We  must  send 
Rock  flying.  Yes,  and  without  a  moment's 
delay." 

"You   still   got   deep   feelin'   for   dat  feller?" 

453 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

Toleon  inquired,  gravely.  The  quick  look  of 
anguish,  the  frank  nod  of  assent  that  he  received, 
were  enough.  "Bien!"  he  said,  slowly.  "I  mak' 
satisfy,  dat's  all.  I  never  see  you  so  scare'  as 
dis." 

"You  know  how  I  feel,"  Rouletta  said;  then, 
more  curiously:  "Why  do  you  need  to  make 
sure?  Do  you  think  I've  changed — ?"  She  hesi- 
tated for  an  instant;  there  came  a  faint  pucker 
of  apprehension  between  her  brows;  into  her  eyes 
crept  a  look  of  wonder  which  changed  to  aston- 
ishment, then  to  incredulity,  fright.  "Oh — h!" 
she  exclaimed.  She  raised  a  faltering  hand  to 
her  lips  as  if  to  stay  a  further  betrayal  of  the 
knowledge  that  had  suddenly  come  to  her.  "Oh, 
'Poleon,  my  dear!  My  brother!" 

The  man  smiled  painfully  as  he  met  her  shocked 
gaze.  "I'm  fonny  feller,  ma  sceur;  always  dream- 
in'  de  mos'  foolish  t'ing.  Don'  pay  no  'tention." 

"I  am —  I  always  will  be  that — your  sister. 
Have  I  made  you  unhappy?" 

Vigorously  he  shook  his  head;  his  face  slowly 
cleared.  "No,  no.  In  dis  life  one  t'ing  is  give 
me  happiness — one  t'ing  alone — an'  dat  is  bring 
you  joy.  Now  come.  De  grass  growin'  on  our 
feet." 

Together  and  in  silence  they  hurried  back  as 
they  had  come;  then,  on  the  plea  that  he  could 
make  better  time  alone,  'Poleon  left  his  com- 
panion and  headed  for  the  Barracks. 

Rouletta  let  him  go  without  protest;  her  heart 
was  heavier  than  lead;  she  could  find  no  words 

454 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

whatever.  A  new  tragedy,  it  seemed,  had  risen 
to  face  her,  for  she  realized  now  that  she  had 
hurt  the  man  who  loved  her  best  of  all.  That 
certainty  filled  her  with  such  regret,  such  a  feel- 
ing of  guilt,  that  she  could  not  bear  to  think  of 
it.  A  very  poignant  sense  of  pain  troubled  her 
as  she  turned  into  the  Rialto,  and  as  a  consequence 
the  lively  clatter  of  the  place  grated  upon  her 
sensibilities;  she  felt  a  miserable,  sick  desire  to 
shut  her  ears  to  this  sound  of  laughter  which 
was  like  ribald  applause  for  the  death-blow  she 
had  dealt.  Yes,  she  had  dealt  a  death-blow,  and 
to  one  most  dear.  But  how  could  she  have 
known?  How  could  she  have  foreseen  such  a 
wretched  complication  as  this?  Who  would  have 
dreamed  that  gay,  careless,  laughing  'Poleon  Doret 
was  like  other  men?  Rouletta  felt  the  desire  to 
bend  her  head  and  release  those  scalding  tears 
that  trembled  on  her  lashes. 

Lieutenant  Rock  was  preparing  for  bed  when 
Toleon,  after  some  little  difficulty,  forced  his  way 
in  upon  him.  The  officer  listened  to  his  caller's 
recital,  and  even  before  it  was  finished  he  had  be- 
gun to  dress  himself  in  his  trail  clothes. 

"Courteau  confessed,  eh?  And  the  McCaskeys 
have  disappeared — taken  French  leave.  Say! 
That  changes  the  look  of  things,  for  a  fact.  Of 
course  they  may  have  merely  gone  back  to 
Hunker—" 

"In  de  middle  of  snow-storm?  Dis  tarn  de 
night?  No.  Dey  makin'  run  for  de  Line  an' 
it's  goin'  tak'  fas'  team  for  pull  'em  down." 

455 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

"Well,  I've  got  the  best  dogs  in  town." 

Rock's  caller  smiled.  "M'sieu',  dey  goin' 
travel  some  if  dey  keep  in  sight  of  me." 

"Ymtf"  Rock  straightened  himself.  "Will 
you  go  along?  Jove!  I'd  like  that!"  he  cried, 
heartily.  "I've  heard  you  own  a  lively  bunch 
of  mutts." 

"I  give  you  tas'e  of  Injun  travel.  Better  you 
dress  light  an'  buckle  up  dat  belt,  for  I  got  reason 
to  fin'  out  who  keel  Courteau.  I  ain't  goin'  sleep 
no  more  till  I  know." 

The  officer  smiled  as  he  declared:  "That  suits 
me  exactly.  We  may  not  catch  them,  but — 
they'll  know  they've  been  hi  a  race  before  they 
thumb  their  noses  at  us  from  across  the  Boun- 
dary. Now  see  how  fast  you  can  harness  up." 

It  was  considerably  after  midnight  when  Toleon 
swung  his  dog-team  into  the  lighted  space  in 
front  of  the  Rialto;  nevertheless,  many  people 
were  about,  for  Dawson  was  a  city  of  sleep-haters. 
The  sight  of  a  racing-team  equipped  for  a  flying 
trip  at  this  hour  of  the  night  evoked  instant  in- 
terest and  speculation,  pointing,  as  it  did,  to  a 
new  gold  discovery  and  a  stampede.  Stampedes 
were  frequent,  they  never  failed  to  create  a  sensa- 
tion, therefore  the  woodsman  was  soon  the  center 
of  an  inquisitive  crowd.  Not  until  he  had  fully 
explained  the  nature  of  his  business  was  suspicion 
allayed ;  then  his  word  that  Joe  and  Frank  McCas- 
key  had  fled  for  the  Boundary  ran  up  and  down 
the  street  and  caused  even  greater  excitement. 

Rouletta  came  hurrying  forth  with  the  others, 

456 


and  to  her  'Poleon  made  known  his  intention  of 
accompanying  the  fleet-footed  Rock. 

"Nobody  is  able  to  catch  dem  feller  but  him 
an'  me,"  he  explained.  "Dey  got  too  long  start." 

"You  think  they  may  get  across?"  she  queried, 
apprehensively. 

"Five,  six  hour,  dat's  beeg  edge.  But  me — ' 
The  speaker  shrugged.  "  Forty  Mile,  Circle, 
Fort  Yukon,  Rampart,  it  mak'  no  differ.  I  get 
'em  some  place,  if  I  go  plumb  to  St.  Michael's. 
When  I  get  goin'  fas'  it  tak'  me  long  tarn  for  run 
down." 

Rouletta's  eyes  opened.  "But,  'Poleon — you 
can't!  There's  the  Boundary.  You're  not  an 
officer;  you  have  no  warrant." 

"Dem  t'ing  is  dam'  nuisance,"  he  declared. 
"I  don'  savvy  dis  law  biznesse.  You  say  get 
'em.  Bien!  I  do  it." 

Rouletta  stared  curiously,  wonderingly  into  the 
big  fellow's  face ;  she  was  about  to  put  her  thoughts 
into  words  when  a  shout  arose  from  the  crowd  as 
the  Police  team  streamed  into  view.  Down  the 
street  it  came  at  a  great  pace,  flashing  through 
shadows  and  past  glaring  lighted  fronts,  snatching 
the  light  hickory  sled  along  behind  as  if  it  were 
a  thing  of  paper.  Rock  balanced  himself  upon 
the  runner  heels  until,  with  a  shout,  he  put  his 
weight  upon  the  sharp-toothed  sled  brake  and 
came  to  a  pause  near  'Poleon.  The  rival  teams 
plunged  into  their  collars  and  set  up  a  pande- 
monium of  yelping,  but  willing  hands  held  them 
from  flying  at  one  another's  throats.  Meanwhile, 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

saloon  doors  were  opening,  the  street  was  filling; 
dance-hall  girls,  white-aproned  bartenders,  bleary- 
eyed  pedestrians,  night-owls — all  the  queerly  as- 
sorted devotees  of  Dawson's  vivid  and  roisterous 
nocturnal  life  hastened  thither;  even  the  second- 
story  windows  framed  heads,  for  this  clamor  put 
slumber  to  flight  without  delay. 

The  wind  was  no  longer  strong,  and  already  a 
clearing  sky  was  evidenced  by  an  occasional 
winking  star;  nevertheless,  it  was  bitterly  cold 
and  those  who  were  not  heavily  clad  were  forced 
to  stamp  their  feet  and  to  whip  their  arms  hi  order 
to  keep  their  blood  in  motion. 

Nothing  is  more  exciting,  more  ominous,  than 
a  man-hunt;  doubly  portentous  was  this  one,  the 
hasty  preparations  for  which  went  forward  in  the 
dead  of  night.  Dawson  had  seen  the  start  of 
more  than  one  race  for  the  Boundary  and  had 
awaited  the  outcome  with  breathless  interest. 
Most  of  the  fugitives  overtaken  had  walked  back 
into  town,  spent,  famished,  frost-blackened,  but 
there  were  some  who  had  returned  on  their  backs, 
wrapped  in  robe  or  canvas  and  offering  mute 
testimony  to  the  speedy  and  relentless  efficiency 
of  the  men  from  the  Barracks.  Of  that  small 
picked  corps  Lieutenant  Rock  was  by  long  odds 
the  favorite.  Now,  therefore,  he  was  the  center 
of  attention,  and  wagers  were  laid  that  he  would 
catch  his  men,  however  rapidly  they  traveled, 
however  great  their  start.  Only  a  few  old-timers 
— "sour-doughs"  from  the  distant  reaches  of  the 
Yukon — knew  'Poleon  Doret,  but  those  few  drew 

458 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

close  to  him  and  gave  the  lieutenant  little  notice. 
This  French  Canadian  they  regarded  as  the  most 
tireless  traveler  in  all  the  North;  about  him, 
therefore,  they  assembled,  and  to  him  they  ad- 
dressed their  questions  and  offered  their  advice. 

The  dogs  were  inspired,  now,  with  the  full  in- 
toxication of  the  chase ;  they  strained  forward  fret- 
fully, their  gray  plumes  waving,  their  tongues  lol- 
ling, their  staccato  chorus  adding  to  the  general 
disturbance.  When  the  word  came  to  go,  they 
leaped  into  their  harness,  and  with  a  musical  jingle 
of  bells  they  swept  down  toward  the  river;  over 
the  steep  bank  they  poured,  and  were  gone.  A 
shout  of  encouragement  followed  Rock  as  he  was 
snapped  into  the  blackness,  then  noisily  the  crowd 
bolted  for  the  warm  interiors  behind  them. 

Rouletta  was  slow  in  leaving;  for  some  tune 
she  stood  harkening  to  the  swift  diminuendo  of 
those  tinkling  sleigh-bells,  staring  into  the  night 
as  if  to  fix  in  her  mind's  eye  the  picture  of  what 
she  had  last  seen,  the  picture  of  a  mighty  man  rid- 
ing the  rail  of  a  plunging  basket  sled.  In  spite  of 
the  biting  cold  he  was  stripped  down;  a  thin  drill 
parka  sufficed  to  break  the  temper  of  the  wind, 
light  fur  boots  were  upon  his  feet,  the  cheek  pieces 
of  his  otter  cap  were  tied  above  his  crown.  He 
had  turned  to  wave  at  her  and  to  shout  a  word  of 
encouragement  just  before  he  vanished.  That 
was  like  him,  she  told  herself — eager  to  spare  her 
even  the  pain  of  undue  apprehension.  The  shock 
of  her  discovery  of  an  hour  ago  was  still  too  fresh 
in  Rouletta's  memory;  it  was  still  too  new  and  too 

30  459 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

agitating  to  permit  of  orderly  thought,  yet  there 
it  stood,  stark  and  dismaying.  This  woodsman 
loved  her,  no  longer  as  a  sister,  but  as  the  one 
woman  of  his  choice.  As  yet  she  could  not  recon- 
cile herself  to  such  a  state  of  affairs;  her  attempts 
to  do  so  filled  her  with  mixed  emotions.  Poor 
'Poleon !  Why  had  this  come  to  him?  Rouletta's 
throat  swelled;  tears  not  of  the  wind  or  the  cold 
stood  in  her  eyes  once  again ;  an  aching  tenderness 
and  pity  welled  up  from  her  heart. 

She  became  conscious  finally  that  her  body  was 
growing  numb,  so  she  bestirred  herself.  She  had 
taken  but  a  step  or  two,  however,  when  some 
movement  in  the  shadows  close  at  hand  arrested 
her.  Peering  into  the  gloom,  she  discovered  a 
figure.  It  was  Laure. 

The  girl  wore  some  sort  of  wrap,  evidently 
snatched  at  random,  but  under  it  she  was  clad 
in  her  dance-hall  finery,  and  she,  too,  was  all  but 
frozen. 

Rouletta  was  about  to  move  on,  when  the  other 
addressed  her  through  teeth  that  clicked  like 
castanets. 

"I  got  here — late.  Is  it  true?  Have  they— 
gone  after  Joe  and  Frank?" 

"Yes." 

"What  happened?  I — I  haven't  heard.  Don't 
they  think— Pierce  did  it?" 

"You  know  he  didn't  do  it,"  Rouletta  cried. 
"Neither  did  he  steal  Courteau's  money." 

"WTiat  do  you  mean,  'I  know'?"  Laure' s 
voice  was  harsh,  imperative.  She  clutched  at  the 

460 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

other  girl;  then,  as  Rouletta  hesitated,  she  re- 
gained control  of  herself  and  ran  on,  in  a  tone 
bitterly  resentful:  "Oh,  you'd  like  to  get  him  out 
of  it — save  him  for  yourself — wouldn't  you?  But 
you  can't.  You  can't  have  him.  I  won't  let 
you.  My  God!  Letty,  he's  the  only  thing  I 
ever  cared  for!  I  never  had  even  a  dog  or  a 
cat  or  a  canary  of  my  own.  Think  a  little  bit 
of  me." 

Almost  dazed  by  this  mingled  accusation  and 
appeal,  Rouletta  at  length  responded  by  a  ques- 
tion, "Then  why  haven't  you  done  something  to 
clear  him?" 

Laure  drew  her  flimsy  wrap  closer;  she  was 
shaking  wretchedly.  When  she  spoke  her  words 
were  spilled  from  her  lips  as  if  by  the  tremors 
of  her  body.  "I  could  help.  I  would,  but — you 
sha'n't  have  him.  Nobody  shall!  I'd  rather  see 
him  dead.  I'd —  No,  no!  I  don't  know  what 
I'm  saying.  I'd  sooner  die  than  hurt  him.  I'd 
do  my  bit,  only — McCaskey  'd  kill  me.  Say. 
Will  Rock  get  him,  d'you  think?  I  hear  he  gets 
his  man  every  tune.  But  Joe's  different;  he's  not 
the  ordinary  kind;  he's  got  the  devil  in  him. 
Frank— he's  a  dog,  but  Joe  '11  fight.  He'll  kill— 
at  the  drop  of  the  hat.  So  will  Rock,  I  suppose. 
Maybe  he'll  kill  them  both,  eh?  Or  maybe  they'll 
kill  him  and  get  away.  I  don't  care  which  way 
it  goes — ' 

"Don't  talk  like  that!"  Rouletta  exclaimed. 

"I  mean  it,"  Laure  ran  on,  crazily.  "Yes, 
Joe'd  kill  anybody  that  stood  in  his  way  or  double- 

461 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

crossed  him.  I  guess  I  know.  Why,  he  told  me 
so  himself!  And  Courteau  knew  it,  perfectly 
well — the  poor  fool! — but  look  at  him  now.  He 
got  his,  didn't  he?" 

Rouletta  laid  a  cold  hand  upon  the  shivering, 
distracted  creature  before  her.  Sternly  she  said: 

"I  believe  you  know  who  committed  that  mur- 
der. You  act  as  if  you  did." 

"I'm  a  g-good  guesser,  but — I  can  keep  my 
mouth  shut.  I  know  when  I'm  well  off.  That's 
more  than  the  Count  knew." 

"And  you  probably  know  something  about  his 
robbery,  too.  I  mean  that  gold-sack — 

Laure  cast  off  the  hand  that  rested  upon  her; 
she  looked  up  quickly.  "If  I  did,  d'you  think 
I'd  tell  you?  Well,  hardly.  But  I  don't.  I 
don't  know  anything,  except  that — Pierce  is  a 
thief.  He  stole  and  gave  me  the  money.  He  did 
that  regularly,  and  that's  more  than  he'd  do  for 
you.  You  may  as  well  know  the  truth.  Caven- 
dish knows  it.  You  think  he's  too  good  for  me, 
don't  you?  Well,  he  isn't.  And  you're  no  better 
than  I  am,  either,  for  that  matter.  You've  got  a 
nerve  to  put  on  airs.  God!  How  I  hate  you  and 
your  superior  ways." 

"Never  mind  me.  I  want  to  know  who  killed 
Count  Courteau." 

"All  right.  Wait  till  Rock  comes  back  and 
ask  him.  He  thinks  he'll  find  out,  but — we'll  see. 
Joe  McCaskey  '11  be  over  the  Line  and  away, 
thank  Heaven!  If  anything  happens  and  they 
should  overtake  him— well,  he'll  fight.  He'll 

462 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

never  come  in  alive,  never."  Turning,  the  speak- 
er stumbled  toward  the  lights  of  the  saloon,  and 
as  she  went  Ru«iletta  heard  her  mutter  again: 
"  He'll  never  coine  in  alive,  never.  Thank  God 
for  that!" 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

FROM  Dawson  City  the  Yukon  flows  in  a 
northwesterly  direction  toward  the  Inter- 
national Boundary,  and  although  the  camp  is 
scarcely  more  than  fifty  miles  due  east  of  Ameri- 
can territory,  by  the  river  it  is  ninety.  Since  the 
Yukon  is  the  main  artery  of  travel,  both  winter 
and  summer — there  being  no  roads  or  trails — it 
behooved  those  malefactors  who  fled  the  wrath 
of  the  Northwest  Mounted  Police  to  obtain  a 
liberal  start,  for  ninety  miles  of  dead  flat  going 
is  no  easy  run  and  the  Police  teams  were  fleet  of 
foot.  Time  was  when  evil-doers  had  undertaken 
to  escape  up-river,  or  to  lose  themselves  in  the 
hills  to  the  northward,  but  this  was  a  desperate 
adventure  at  best  and  had  issued  in  such  uniform 
disaster  as  to  discourage  its  practice.  The  Police 
had  won  the  reputation  of  never  leaving  a  trail, 
and,  hi  consequence,  none  but  madmen  longer 
risked  anything  except  a  dash  for  American  soil, 
and  even  then  only  with  a  substantial  margin  of 
tune  in  their  favor. 

But  the  winter  winds  are  moody,  the  temper 
of  the  Arctic  is  uncertain,  hence  luck  played  a 
large  part  in  these  enterprises.  Both  Rock  and 

464 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Doret  were  sufficiently  familiar  with  the  hazards 
and  the  disappointments  of  travel  at  this  time  of 
year  to  feel  extremely  doubtful  of  overhauling 
the  two  McCaskeys,  and  so  they  were  by  no 
means  sanguine  of  success  as  they  drove  headlong 
into  the  night. 

Both  teams  were  loaded  light;  neither  driver 
carried  stove,  tent,  or  camp  duffle.  Sleeping- 
bags,  a  little  cooked  food  for  themselves,  a  bun- 
dle of  dried  fish  for  the  dogs,  that  was  the  limit 
the  pursuers  had  allowed  themselves.  Given 
good  weather,  nothing  more  was  needed.  In 
case  of  a  storm,  a  sudden  blizzard,  and  a  drop  in 
temperature,  this  lack  of  equipment  was  apt  to 
prove  fatal,  but  neither  traveler  permitted  him- 
self to  think  about  such  things.  Burdened  thus 
lightly,  the  sleds  rode  high  and  the  malamutes 
romped  along  with  them.  When  the  late  dawn 
finally  came  it  found  them  far  on  their  way. 

That  wind,  following  the  snowfall  of  the  day 
before,  had  been  a  happy  circumstance,  for  in 
many  places  it  had  blown  the  trail  clean,  so 
that  daylight  showed  it  winding  away  into  the 
distance  like  a  thread  laid  down  at  random.  Here 
and  there,  of  course,  it  was  hidden;  under  the 
lee  of  bluffs  or  of  wooded  bends,  for  instance,  it 
was  drifted  deep,  completely  obliterated,  in  fact, 
and  in  such  places  even  a  seasoned  musher  would 
have  floundered  aimlessly,  trying  to  hold  it. 
But  'Poleon  Doret  possessed  a  sixth  sense,  it 
appeared,  and  his  lead  dog,  too,  had  unusual 
sagacity.  Rock,  from  his  position  hi  the  rear, 

465 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

marveled  at  the  accuracy  with  which  the  woods- 
man's sled  followed  the  narrow,  hard-packed 
ridge  concealed  beneath  the  soft,  new  covering. 
Undoubtedly  the  fellow  knew  his  business  and 
the  officer  congratulated  himself  upon  bringing 
him  along. 

They  had  been  under  way  for  five  or  six  hours 
when  the  tardy  daylight  came,  but  even  there- 
after Doret  continued  to  run  with  his  hand  upon 
his  sled.  Seldom  did  he  ride,  and  then  only  for 
a  moment  or  two  when  the  going  was  best.  For 
the  most  part  he  maintained  a  steady,  swinging 
trot  that  kept  pace  with  the  pattering  feet  ahead 
of  him  and  caused  the  miles  rapidly  to  drop  be- 
hind. Through  drifts  knee-deep,  through  long, 
soft  stretches  he  held  to  that  unfaltering  stride; 
occasionally  he  turned  his  head  and  flashed  a  smile 
or  waved  his  hand  at  the  man  behind. 

Along  about  ten  o'clock  he  halted  his  team 
where  a  dead  spruce  overhung  the  river-bank. 
By  the  time  Rock  had  pulled  in  behind  him  he 
had  clambered  up  the  bank,  ax  in  hand,  and  was 
making  the  chips  fly.  He  sent  the  dry  top  crash- 
ing down,  then  explained: 

"Dem  dogs  go  better  for  Til  rest.  We  boil  de 
kettle,  eh?" 

Rock  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  face.  "You're 
certainly  hitting  it  off,  old  man.  We've  made 
good  time,  but  I  haven't  seen  any  tracks.  Have 
you?" 

"We  see  'em  bimeby." 

"Kind  of  a  joke  if  they  hadn't  come,  after  all 

466 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

— if  they'd  really  gone  out  to  Hunker.  Gee! 
The  laugh  would  be  on  us." 

"Dey  come  dis  way,"  'Poleon  stoutly  main- 
tained. 

Soon  a  blaze  was  going;  then,  while  the  ice  in 
the  blackened  tea-bucket  was  melting,  the  drivers 
sliced  a  slab  of  bacon  into  small  cubes  and  fed  it 
sparingly  to  their  animals,  after  which  they  care- 
fully examined  the  dogs'  feet  and  cleaned  them 
of  ice  and  snow  pellets. 

The  tea  was  gulped,  the  hardtack  swallowed, 
and  the  travelers  were  under  way  again  almost 
before  their  sweaty  bodies  had  begun  to  chill. 
On  they  hurried,  mile  after  mile,  sweeping  past 
bends,  eagerly,  hopefully  scanning  every  empty  tan  • 
gent  that  opened  up  ahead  of  them.  They  made 
fast  time  indeed,  but  the  immensity  of  the  desola- 
tion through  which  they  passed,  the  tremendous 
scale  upon  which  this  country  had  been  molded, 
made  their  progress  seem  slower  than  an  ant-crawl. 

Eventually  'Poleon  shouted  something  and 
pointed  to  the  trail  underfoot.  Rock  fancied  he 
could  detect  the  faint,  fresh  markings  of  sled 
runners,  but  into  them  he  could  not  read  much 
significance.  It  was  an  encouragement,  to  be 
sure,  but,  nevertheless,  he  still  had  doubts,  and 
those  doubts  were  not  dispelled  until  Doret  again 
halted  his  team,  this  time  beside  the  cold  embers 
of  a  fire.  Fresh  chips  were  scattered  under  the 
bank,  charred  fagots  had  embedded  themselves  in 
the  ice  and  were  frozen  fast,  but  'Poleon  inter- 
preted the  various  signs  without  difficulty. 

467 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Here  dey  mak'  breakfas' — 'bout  daylight," 
said  he.  "Dey  go  slower  as  us." 

"But  they're  going  pretty  fast,  for  all  that. 
We'll  never  get  them  this  side  of  Forty  Mile." 

"You  don'  spec'  it,  do  you?  Dey  got  beeg 
scare,  dem  feller.  Dey  runnin'  so  fas'  dey  can." 

Forty  Mile,  so  called  because  the  river  of  that 
name  enters  the  Yukon  forty  miles  above  the 
Boundary,  was  a  considerable  camp  prior  to  the 
Dawson  boom,  but  thereafter  it  had  languished, 
and  this  winter  it  was  all  but  deserted.  So,  too, 
was  Cudahy,  the  rival  trading-post  a  half-mile 
below.  It  was  on  the  bars  of  this  stream  that 
the  earliest  pioneers  had  first  found  gold.  Here 
at  its  mouth,  during  the  famine  days  before  the 
steamboats  came,  they  had  cached  their  supplies; 
here  they  had  brewed  their  hootch  in  the  fall  and 
held  high  carnival  to  celebrate  their  good  luck 
or  to  drown  their  ill-fortune. 

Rock  and  his  companion  pulled  up  the  bank 
and  in  among  the  windowless  cabins  during  the 
afternoon;  they  had  halted  their  dogs  before  the 
Mounted  Police  station,  only  to  find  the  building 
locked  and  cold.  The  few  faithful  Forty-Milers 
who  came  out  to  exchange  greetings  explained 
that  both  occupants  of  the  barracks  had  gone 
down-river  to  succor  some  sick  Indians. 

Rock  was  disgusted,  but  his  next  question 
elicited  information  that  cheered  him.  Yes,  a 
pah1  of  strangers  had  just  passed  through,  one  of 
them  an  active,  heavy-set  fellow,  the  other  a  tall, 
dark,  sinister  man  with  black  eyes  and  a  stormy 

468 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

demeanor.  They  had  come  fast  and  they  had 
tarried  only  long  enough  to  feed  their  dogs  and  to 
make  some  inquiries.  Upon  learning  that  the 
local  police  were  on  the  main  river  somewhere 
below,  they  had  held  a  consultation  and  then 
had  headed  up  the  Forty  Mile. 

" Up  Forty  Mile?"  Rock  cried,  in  surprise. 
"Are  you  sure?" 

"We  seen  'em  go,"  his  informant  declared. 
"That's  what  made  us  think  there  was  something 
wrong.  That's  why  we  been  on  the  lookout  for 
you.  We  figgered  they  was  on  the  dodge  and 
hard  pressed,  but  we  couldn't  do  nothing  about 
it.  You  see,  it's  only  about  twenty-three  miles 
to  the  Line  up  Forty  Mile.  Down  the  Yukon  it's 
forty.  They  been  gone  'most  two  hours,  now." 

"What  do  you  want  'em  for?"  another  by- 
stander inquired. 

"Murder,"  Rock  exclaimed,  shortly;  then  he 
heaved  his  sled  into  motion  once  more,  for  'Poleon 
had  started  his  team  and  was  making  off  through 
the  town.  Down  into  the  bed  of  the  smaller 
stream  the  pursuers  made  their  way  and  up  this 
they  turned.  Again  they  urged  their  dogs  into 
a  run.  It  took  some  effort  to  maintain  a  gallop- 
ing pace  now,  for  the  teams  were  tiring,  and  after 
some  mental  calculations  Rock  shook  his  head 
doubtfully.  Of  course,  his  quarry  was  at  a  dis- 
advantage, there  being  two  men  to  one  sled,  but 
— twenty-three  miles,  with  a  two-hour  start! 
It  was  altogether  too  great  a  handicap.  The  lieu- 
tenant had  figured  on  that  last  forty  miles,  the 

469 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

last  five  or  ten,  in  fact,  but  this  change  of  direc- 
tion had  upset  all  his  plans  and  his  estimates. 
Evidently  the  McCaskeys  cared  not  how  nor 
where  they  crossed  the  Line,  so  long  as  they 
crossed  it  quickly  and  got  Canadian  territory  be- 
hind them.  Barring  accident,  therefore,  which 
was  extremely  unlikely,  Rock  told  himself  re- 
gretfully that  they  were  as  good  as  gone.  Two 
hours!  It  was  too  much.  On  the  other 
hand,  he  and  Toleon  now  had  a  fresh  trail  to 
follow,  while  the  fleeing  brothers  had  unbroken 
snow  ahead  of  them,  and  that  meant  that  they 
must  take  turns  ahead  of  their  dogs.  Then,  too, 
fifty  miles  over  drifted  trails  at  this  season  of  the 
year  was  a  heavy  day's  work,  and  the  McCaskeys 
must  be  very  tired  by  now,  for  neither  was  in  the 
best  of  condition.  In  the  spring,  when  the  snows 
were  wet  and  sled  runners  ran  as  if  upon 
grease,  such  a  journey  would  have  been  no  great 
effort,  but  in  this  temperature  the  steel  shoes 
creaked  and  a  man's  muscles  did  not  work  freely. 
Men  had  been  known  to  play  out  unexpectedly. 
After  all,  there  was  a  possibility  of  pulling  them 
down,  and  as  long  as  there  was  that  possibility 
the  Mounted  Policeman  refused  to  quit. 

Rock  assured  himself  that  this  flight  had  estab- 
lished one  thing,  at  least,  and  that  was  Pierce 
Phillips'  innocence  of  the  Courteau  killing.  The 
murderers  were  here;  there  could  be  no  doubt  of 
it.  Their  frantic  haste  confessed  their  guilt. 
Friendship  for  the  boy,  pride  in  his  own  reputation, 
the  memory  of  that  ovation  he  had  received  upon 

470 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

leaving,  gave  the  officer  new  strength  and  deter- 
mination, so  he  shut  his  teeth  and  spurred  his 
rebellious  limbs  into  swifter  action.  There  was 
no  longer  any  opportunity  of  riding  the  sled, 
even  where  the  trail  was  hard,  for  some  of  the 
Police  dogs  were  limping  and  loafing  in  their  col- 
lars. This  was  indeed  a  race,  a  Marathon,  a 
twenty-three-mile  test  of  courage  and  endurance, 
and  victory  would  go  to  him  who  could  call  into 
fullest  response  his  last  uttermost  ounce  of  re- 
serve power. 

Doret  had  promised  that  he  would  show  his 
trail-mate  how  to  travel,  and  that  promise  he 
had  made  good;  all  day  he  had  held  the  lead, 
and  without  assistance  from  the  lash.  Even  now 
his  dogs,  while  not  fresh,  were  far  from  exhausted. 
As  for  the  man  himself,  Rock  began  to  feel  a  con- 
viction that  the  fellow  could  go  on  at  this  rate 
eternally. 

Luck  finally  seemed  to  break  in  favor  of  the 
pursuers;  accident  appeared  to  work  in  then1  be- 
half. The  day  was  done,  night  was  again  upon 
them,  when  Doret  sent  back  a  cry  of  warning, 
and,  leaping  upon  his  sled,  turned  his  leader  at 
right  angles  toward  the  bank. 

His  companion  understood  the  meaning  of 
that  move,  but  the  Police  team  was  less  respon- 
sive to  command,  and  before  Rock  could  swing 
them  he  felt  his  feet  sink  into  soft  slush. 

"Dam'  overflow!"  Doret  panted  when  the  two 
teams  were  safely  out  upon  the  bank.  "You  wet 
your  feet,  eh?" 

471 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Apprehensively  the  officer  felt  of  his  moccasins; 
they  were  wet  to  the  touch,  but  as  yet  no  moisture 
had  penetrated  his  socks.  "You  yelled  in  the 
nick  of  time,"  he  declared,  as  he  dried  his  soles 
in  the  loose  snow. 

"Dem  feller  got  in  it  ankle-deep.  I  bet  we 
fin'  camp-fire  soon." 

This  prediction  came  true.  As  the  travelers 
rounded  the  next  bluff  they  smelled  the  odor  of 
burning  spruce  and  came  upon  a  trampled  bed 
of  boughs  beside  which  some  embers  were  still 
smoldering. 

"Jove!  That  gives  us  a  chance,  doesn't  it?" 
Rock  panted. 

His  companion  smiled.  "We  goin'  start  travel 
now,  for  sure.  Dey  can't  be  more  'n  a  mile  or 
two  ahead." 

Down  upon  the  river-bed  the  teams  rushed. 
With  biting  lash  and  sharp  commands  the  drivers 
urged  them  into  a  swifter  run.  Rock  was  forcing 
his  dogs  now;  he  made  the  smoke  fly  from  their 
hides  when  they  lagged.  He  vowed  that  he 
would  not  permit  this  French  Canadian  to  out- 
distance him.  He  swore  a  good  deal  at  his  mala- 
mutes;  he  cursed  himself  as  a  weakling,  a  quitter; 
anger  at  his  fatigue  ran  through  him. 

The  travelers  were  up  among  the  hills  by  now. 
Occasionally  they  passed  a  deserted  cabin,  home 
of  some  early  gold-digger.  Valleys  dark  with 
night  opened  up  to  right  and  to  left  as  the  Forty 
Mile  wound  higher,  deeper  into  the  maze  of  round- 
ed domes:  the  Boundary  was  close  at  hand.  The 

472 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

hillsides  hid  their  feet  in  black  thickets  of  spruce, 
but  their  slopes  were  thinly  timbered,  their  crests 
were  nearly  bare,  and  the  white  snow  gave  off  a 
dim  radiance  that  made  traveling  possible  even 
after  the  twilight  had  deepened.  By  and  by  it 
grew  lighter  and  the  north  horizon  took  on  a  rosy 
flush  that  spread  into  a  tremendous  flare.  The 
night  was  still,  clear,  crackly;  it  was  surcharged 
with  some  static  force,  and  so  calm  was  the  air, 
so  deathlike  the  hush,  that  the  empty  valley  rang 
like  a  bell.  That  mysterious  illumination  in  the 
north  grew  more  and  more  impressive;  great  rib- 
bons, long  pathways  of  quivering  light,  unrolled 
themselves  and  streamed  across  the  sky;  they 
flamed  and  flickered,  they  writhed  and  melted, 
disappearing,  reappearing,  rising,  falling.  It  was 
as  if  the  lid  had  been  lifted  from  some  stupendous 
caldron  and  the  heavens  reflected  the  radiance 
from  its  white-hot  contents.  Mighty  fingers,  like 
the  beams  of  polar  search-lights,  groped  through 
the  voids  overhead;  tumbling  waves  of  color 
rushed  up  and  dashed  themselves  away  into 
space;  the  whole  arch  of  the  night  was  lit  as  from 
a  world  in  flames.  Red,  yellow,  orange,  violet, 
ultra-violet — the  tints  merged  with  one  another 
bewilderingly  and  the  snows  threw  back  their 
flicker  until  coarse  print  would  have  been  read- 
able. Against  that  war  of  clashing  colors  the 
mountain-crests  stood  out  hi  silhouette  and  the 
fringe  of  lonely  wind-twisted  trunks  high  up  on 
their  saddles  were  etched  in  blackest  ink. 

It  was  a  weird,  an  unearthly  effect;  it  was  ex- 
473 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

citing,  too.  As  always  when  the  Aurora  is  hi 
full  play,  the  onlookers  marveled  that  such  a 
tremendous  exhibition  of  energy  could  continue 
in  such  silence.  That  was  the  oddest,  the  most 
impressive  feature  of  all,  for  the  crash  of  ava- 
lanches, the  rumble  of  thunder,  the  diapason  of 
a  hundred  Niagaras,  should  have  accompanied 
such  appalling  phenomena.  It  seemed  odd  in- 
deed that  the  whine  of  sled  runners,  the  scuff  of 
moccasins,  the  panting  of  dogs,  should  be  the 
only  audible  sounds. 

There  were  other  overflows  underfoot  now,  but 
the  cold  had  frozen  them  and  the  going  was 
getting  constantly  better.  The  snow  was  thin 
and  in  places  the  sleds  slewed  sidewise  and  the 
dogs  ran  on  slack  traces  across  long  stretches  of 
bare  glare  ice.  It  was  while  negotiating  such  a 
place  as  this  that  Rock  paid  the  price  of  his  earlier 
carelessness.  Doret's  dry  moose-skin  soles  had  a 
sure  grip,  hence  he  never  hesitated,  but  the  lieu- 
tenant's moccasins  were  like  a  pair  of  tin  shoes 
now  and,  without  warning,  he  lost  his  foot- 
ing. He  was  running  swiftly  at  the  moment; 
he  strove  to  save  himself,  to  twist  in  midair, 
but  he  failed.  'Poleon  heard  a  cry  of  pain  and 
dismay,  so  he  halted  his  team  and  came  strid- 
ing back.  Rock  raised  himself,  then  took  a  step, 
but  faltered  and  clung  helplessly  to  the  handle- 
bars. He  began  to  curse  furiously;  he  under- 
took to  estimate  the  extent  of  his  injury,  then 
explained: 

foot  doubled  under  me  and  I  came  down 

474 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

on  it  like  a  ton  of  bricks.  By  Heavens !  I  believe 
something  broke!" 

'Poleon  was  solicitous.  He  blamed  himself, 
too.  "It's  dem  wet  moccasin'.  I  should  have 
stop'  an'  mak'  you  change,"  said  he. 

"We  can't  stop,"  Rock  groaned.  "I'll  be  all 
right  as  soon  as — "  The  words  ended  in  another 
explosive  oath  as  he  again  put  his  weight  upon 
the  injured  member.  Blasphemy  poured  from  his 
lips  as  repeatedly  he  tried  to  force  his  foot  to 
carry  him.  He  cursed  himself  for  a  clumsy, 
blundering  ass;  he  shouted  at  his  dogs;  he  sent 
his  sled  forward  and  lurched  along  behind  it, 
half  supporting  himself,  until  'Poleon  finally 
halted  him. 

"It's  no  good  mak'  bad  t'ing  worse,  M'sieu'," 
the  woodsman  declared.  "You  bus'  him  for 
sure,  an'  it's  no  use  goin'  furder.  S'pose  mebbe 
we  boil  de  kettle,  eh?" 

"And  let  them  get  away  clean?  When  we  had 
'em?  They  can't  be  a  mile  ahead.  Let  'em  slip 
between  our  fingers?"  raved  the  officer.  "I 
can't.  I  won't— ~' 

"We  mak'  li'l  fire  an'  look  him  over  dat  foot. 
Me,  I  t'ink  you  don'  walk  no  more  for  two,  free 
week'." 

"You  go!  I'll  deputize  you!  Get  'em,  Doret, 
quick!  You  can  do  it!  I'll  wait!  Go  ahead!" 

The  other  nodded.  "Sure,  I  can  get  'em!  I 
never  have  no  doubt  'bout  dat  hi  de  least,  but 
it's  better  we  fix  you  comfor'ble." 

"They'll  be  across,  I  tell  you — over  the  Line — " 
31  475 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"I  came  pas'  dat  place  more  'n  once  or  twice" 
— the  French  Canadian  grinned — "an'  I  never 
seen  it  no  Line."  He  forced  his  companion  to 
lower  himself  upon  the  sled,  then  swung  it  toward 
the  river-bank,  calling  upon  his  own  lead  dog  to 
follow.  Up  and  into  the  shelter  of  the  spruce 
he  drove  the  Police  team;  quickly  he  felled  dry- 
wood  and  kindled  a  fire.  This  took  but  a  few 
moments,  but  Rock  was  wet  with  sweat  and  in 
consequence  he  was  shivering  wretchedly;  his 
teeth  were  chattering  even  before  the  blaze  had 
taken  hold.  'Poleon  continued  to  work  with 
what  speed  he  could,  and  in  a  surprisingly  short 
time  he  had  built  a  snug  wickiup  and  filled  it 
with  boughs.  This  done,  he  unhitched  and  fed 
both  teams,  spread  Rock's  sleeping-bag  under  the 
shelter,  and  set  a  pail  of  snow  to  melt.  By  the 
light  of  the  fire  he  examined  the  latter's  injury, 
but  could  make  little  of  it,  for  already  it  was  badly 
swollen  and  every  manipulation  caused  its  owner 
extreme  pain.  There  were  no  remedies  available; 
there  was  not  even  a  vessel  of  sufficient  size  in 
which  to  bathe  the  foot;  hence  'Poleon  contented 
himself  by  bandaging  it  and  helping  his  trail-mate 
into  bed. 

Not  since  leaving  Dawson  had  either  man 
tasted  hot  food,  but  their  hunger  was  as  nothing 
to  their  thirst.  Even  in  this  length  of  time  then* 
bodies  had  shrunk,  withered,  inside  their  clothing, 
and  for  perhaps  an  hour  they  took  turns  greedily 
draining  the  pail  of  its  tepid  contents.  Under 
intense  cold  the  human  body  consumes  itself  at 

476 


THE    WINDS    OF   CHANCE 

a  rapid  rate.  Once  it  has  burned  itself  out  it 
preys  upon  those  deep-hidden  forces  which  nature 
holds  hi  reserve,  and  the  process  of  recuperation 
waits  upon  a  restoration  of  a  normal  balance  of 
moisture. 

Both  men  were  weighed  down  by  an  aching, 
nightmare  fatigue,  and  as  they  sat  gulping  hot 
water,  absorbing  heat  from  within  and  without, 
their  muscles  set  and  they  felt  as  if  their  limbs 
had  turned  to  stone. 

But,  once  the  first  mad  craving  for  drink  had 
been  assuaged,  they  fried  bacon  and  made  tea. 
Like  wolves  they  fell  upon  the  salt  meat;  they 
clipped  the  hot  grease  up  in  their  spoons  and 
swallowed  it  with  relish;  they  crunched  their 
hardtack  and  washed  the  powdery  mouthfuls 
down  with  copious  draughts  from  the  blackened 
pail.  When  the  tea  was  gone  they  brewed  an- 
other scalding  bucketful. 

Rock  lay  back,  finally,  but  the  movement 
caused  him  to  bare  his  teeth  in  agony.  At 
'Poleon's  quick  inquiry  he  shook  his  head. 

"I'm  all  right,"  he  declared.  "Good  for  the 
night.  You  can  pull  out  any  time  you  want  to." 

"Dere's  plenty  tarn."  'Poleon  lit  his  pipe  and 
reached  again  for  the  tea-bucket. 

"Better  go  before  you  stiffen  up." 

"I  go  bimeby — sooner  I  get  li'l  drinkin'  done." 

" They'll  fight,"  Rock  announced,  after  a  si- 
lence of  perhaps  five  minutes.  "I  feel  pretty 
rotten,  playing  out  like  this." 

"You  done  firs'  rate,"  the  woodsman  told  him. 

477 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"If  I  come  alone  I  catch  'em  ten  mile  below,  but 
— li'l  tarn,  more  less,  don'  mak'  no  differ." 

"I  believe  you  would  have  got  'em,"  the  offi- 
cer acknowledged.  After  a  time  he  persisted: 
"They'll  put  up  a  battle,  Doret.  You'll  need  to 
be  careful." 

'Poleon  was  squatted  Indian  fashion  over  the 
blaze;  he  was  staring  fixedly  into  the  flames, 
and  an  aboriginal  reticence  had  settled  upon  him. 
After  a  long  tune  he  answered:  "Mebbe  so  I  keel 
de  beeg  feller.  I  dunno.  So  long  one  is  lef  I 
mak'  him  clear  dat  boy  Phillips." 

"Decent  of  you  to  take  a  chance  like  that  for 
Pierce,"  Rock  resumed.  "It's  different  with 
me;  I  have  to  do  it.  Just  the  same,  I  wouldn't 
care  to  follow  those  fellows  over  the  Boundary. 
I  don't  think  you'd  better  try  it." 

In  spite  of  his  suffering,  the  lieutenant  fell  into 
a  doze;  whether  he  slept  ten  minutes  or  an  hour 
he  never  knew,  but  he  awoke,  groaning,  to  find 
the  big  woodsman  still  bulked  over  the  camp- 
fire,  still  smoking,  still  sipping  tea.  Rock  ate  and 
drank  some  more;  again  he  slept.  For  a  second 
time  his  pain  roused  him,  and  once  more  he  mar- 
veled to  discover  'Poleon  occupied  as  before.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  the  fellow  would  never  satisfy 
himself.  Eventually,  however,  the  latter  arose 
and  made  preparations  to  leave. 

The  Northern  Lights  had  flickered  out  now; 
the  empty  sky  was  sprinkled  with  a  million  stars 
which  glittered  like  scintillating  frost  jewels  frozen 
into  the  dome  of  heaven;  there  were  no  sounds 

478 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

whatever  to  break  the  deathlike  silence  of  the 
night,  for  the  Arctic  wastes  are  all  but  lifeless. 
There  were  no  bird-calls,  no  sounds  of  insects, 
not  even  the  whisper  of  running  water,  for  the 
river  was  locked  deep  beneath  its  icy  armor. 

"You  got  'nough  wood  to  las'  long  tarn," 
'Poleon  declared.  "If  I  don'  come  back,  dem 
Forty  Mile  Police  is  sure  to  pick  you  up." 

"I  can  go  in  alone  if  I  have  to,"  the  injured 
man  declared.  "Au  revoir  and  good  luck." 

'Poleon  made  no  attempt  to  hurry  his  tired 
team;  for  several  miles  he  plodded  along  behind 
them,  guiding  them  to  right  or  left  by  a  low- 
spoken  word.  Years  before,  he  had  rocked  on 
the  bars  of  this  stream;  therefore  its  landmarks 
were  familiar  to  him,  and  in  spite  of  the  darkness 
he  readily  identified  them.  In  time  he  made  out 
the  monuments  marking  the  International  Boun- 
dary, and  a  short  distance  beyond  that  point  he 
unhitched  his  dogs,  then  took  a  carbine  from  his 
sled  and  slipped  it  full  of  shells.  Next  he  re- 
moved his  lash  rope,  coiled  it,  and  placed  it  in 
his  pocket,  after  which  he  resumed  his  journey 
alone. 

Occasionally  he  dimly  glimpsed  deserted  cabins, 
habitations  built  by  the  gold-diggers  of  other 
days.  Carefully  he  followed  the  all  but  indis- 
tinguishable sled  tracks  ahead  of  him  until  they 
swerved  abruptly  in  toward  the  bank.  Here  he 
paused,  pulled  a  mitten,  and,  moistening  a  finger, 
held  it  up  to  test  the  wind.  What  movement 
there  was  to  the  air  seemed  to  satisfy  him,  for, 

479 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

step  by  step,  he  mounted  the  steep  slope  until  his 
head  finally  rose  over  its  crest.  Against  the  sky- 
line he  now  made  out  a  small  clearing;  straining 
his  eyes,  he  could  see  the  black  square  of  a  cabin 
wall.  No  light  shone  from  it,  therefore  he  argued 
that  his  men  had  supped  and  were  asleep.  He 
had  assumed  that  they  would  not,  could  not,  go 
far  beyond  the  Boundary;  he  had  purposely  al- 
lowed them  sufficient  time  in  which  to  overcome 
the  first  agony  of  fatigue  and  to  fall  asleep.  He 
wondered  apprehensively  where  they  had  put 
their  dogs,  and  if  by  any  evil  chance  the  McCaskey 
team  included  an  "outside"  dog  of  the  watchful, 
barking  variety. 

Gingerly  he  stepped  out,  and  found  that  the 
snow  underfoot  gave  oft7  only  the  faintest  whisper. 
Like  a  shadow  he  stole  closer  to  the  hut,  keeping 
the  imperceptible  night  breeze  in  his  face. 

So  noiseless  was  his  approach  that  the  tired 
dogs,  snugly  curled  each  in  its  own  deep  bed  of 
snow,  did  not  hear  him — your  malamutes  that 
are  broken  to  harness  are  bad  watch-dogs  at  best. 
Not  until  he  had  melted  into  the  gloom  beneath 
the  wide  overhang  above  the  cabin  door  did  the 
first  disturbance  come.  Then  something  started 
into  life  and  the  silence  was  broken. 

'Poleon  saw  that  a  canvas  sled-cover  had  been 
used  to  curtain  the  door  opening,  and  during  the 
instant  following  the  alarm  he  brushed  the  tar- 
paulin aside  and  stepped  into  the  pitch-black 
interior. 

It  had  been  a  swift  maneuver,  the  result  of  a 

480 


THE   WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

lightning-like  decision,  and  not  so  reckless  as  it 
appeared. 

He  stood  now  with*his  back  to  the  rough  log 
wall,  every  muscle  in  his  body  taut,  his  ears 
strained  for  some  sound,  some  challenge.  He 
had  been  prepared  for  a  shot  out  of  the  dark- 
ness, but  nothing  came.  His  lungs  were  filling 
with  the  first  deep  breath  of  relief  when  a  sleepy 
voice  spoke: 

"That  you,  Frank?"  'Poleon  remained  fixed 
in  his  tracks.  "Frank!"  There  was  a  moment's 
pause,  then,  "Frank!" 

Followed  a  rustle  as  of  a  body  turning,  then  a 
startled  mumble  in  answer. 

"Was  that  you?"  Joe  McCaskey's  voice  again 
demanded. 

"Me?    What—?" 

"Was  you  outside?" 

"Outside?" 

"I  heard  the  dogs  rowing.    They're  stirring 
now.    Hear  'em?    I'll  swear  I  saw  that  fly  drop — ' 
McCaskey's  words  died  out  and  again  the  interior 
of  the  cabin  became  soundless. 

"Who's  there?"  the  former  speaker  suddenly 
barked. 

WTien  another  moment  had  dragged  by,  a 
sulphur  match  was  struck.  For  a  second  or  two 
it  shed  a  sickly  blue  radiance  sufficient  only  to 
silhouette  a  pair  of  hands  cupped  over  it;  then, 
as  the  flame  ignited  the  tiny  shaft,  it  burst  into 
a  yellow  glow  and  sent  the  shadows  of  the  cabin 

leaping. 

481 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

Joe  McCaskey  uttered  a  cry,  a  scream.  The 
flame  was  crushed  in  his  palms  and  again  the 
cabin  was  ink  black.  It  remained  as  silent  as 
before  except  for  a  dry  rattling  of  breath  in  the 
elder  brother's  throat. 

"Wha — what  'd  you — see?"  the  younger  one 
gasped.  Both  men  were  now  fully  awake,  but, 
disregarding  the  question,  Joe  cried,  wildly: 

"Who  are  you?  What  d'you  want?"  And 
then,  when  no  answer  came:  "Christ!  Say  some- 
thing." 

'Poleon  could  hear  the  wretch  moisten  his  dry 
lips;  he  could  picture  both  men  sitting  bolt  up- 
right in  their  sleeping-bags;  he  could  feel  the 
terror  that  was  creeping  over  them. 

"Who'd  you  see?"  Frank  whispered  again. 

"S-something  big!  Right  there!  By  God! 
Something's  in  here!" 

Joe's  tone  was  firmer  now;  nevertheless,  fright 
still  held  him  motionless,  paralyzed.  He  was 
staring  with  blind  eyes  into  the  velvet  blackness, 
and  his  flesh  was  rippling  with  a  superstitious 
horror  of  that  formless  creature  he  had  glimpsed. 
What  was  it  that  had  walked  in  out  of  the  night 
and  now  crouched  ready  to  spring?  Nothing 
human,  nothing  natural,  that  was  sure. 

Similar  thoughts  raced  madly  throi2gh  his 
brother's  brain,  and  the  latter  let  forth  a  thin 
wail — almost  a  sob.  The  sound  set  Joe  into 
motion.  Swiftly  but  clumsily  he  fumbled  through 
the  dry  grass  with  which  his  bunk  was  filled. 
He  uttered  a  throaty  curse,  for  he  had  laid  his 

482 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

revolver  by  his  side,  right  where  his  hand  would 
fall  upon  it.  Where  was  the  thing — ? 

Joe's  body  turned  rigid,  his  shaking  fingers 
grew  stiff  and  useless,  when  out  of  the  darkness 
came  a  sigh — faint  but  unmistakable;  whence  it 
issued  neither  brother  could  tell. 

With  another  shriek  Frank  fell  back  and  bur- 
rowed into  his  sleeping-bag. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

OULETTA  KIRBY  spent  an  anxious  and  a 
thoughtful  night.  The  more  she  dwelt  upon 
Laure's  peculiar  behavior  the  more  it  roused  her 
suspicions  and  the  more  she  felt  justified  in  seek- 
ing an  interview  with  Colonel  Cavendish.  She 
rose  early,  therefore,  and  went  to  Police  Head- 
quarters. 

Two  people  were  in  the  office  when  she  entered, 
one  a  redcoat,  evidently  acting  in  some  clerical 
capacity;  the  other  a  girl  whom  Rouletta  had 
never  seen.  The  colonel  was  engaged,  so  Rouletta 
was  told,  and  she  sat  down  to  wait.  With  fur- 
tive curiosity  she  began  to  study  this  other  young 
woman.  It  was  plain  that  the  latter  was  a 
privileged  person,  for  she  made  herself  perfectly 
at  home  and  appeared  to  be  not  in  the  least  chilled 
by  the  official  formality  of  her  surroundings. 
She  wandered  restlessly  about  the  room,  humming 
a  tune  under  her  breath;  she  readjusted  the  win- 
dow-curtains to  her  liking;  she  idly  thumbed  the 
books  upon  the  shelves;  finally  she  perched  her- 
self upon  the  table  in  the  midst  of  the  documents 
upon  which  the  officer  was  engaged,  and  began 
a  low-voiced  conversation  with  him. 

484 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Rouletta  was  not  a  little  impressed  by  this 
stranger.  She  had  never  seen  a  finer,  healthier, 
cleaner-cut  girl.  Here  for  once  was  a  "nice" 
woman  of  the  town  who  did  not  stare  at  her  with 
open  and  offensive  curiosity.  She  was  not  sur- 
prised when  she  overheard  the  Police  officer  ad- 
dress her  as  "Miss  Cavendish."  No  wonder  this 
girl  had  poise  and  breeding — the  Cavendishes 
were  the  best  people  in  the  community.  With  a 
jealous  pang  the  caller  reflected  that  the  colonel's 
daughter  was  very  much  what  she  herself  would 
like  to  be,  very  much  her  ideal,  so  far  as  she  could 
judge. 

When,  eventually,  the  commandant  himself 
emerged  from  his  sanctum,  he  paused  for  a  mo- 
ment at  his  daughter's  side;  then  he  approached 
Rouletta. 

Very  briefly  the  latter  made  known  the  reason 
of  her  presence,  and  the  colonel  nodded. 

"You  did  quite  right  in  coming  here,"  he  de- 
clared, "and  I'm  sure  this  dance-hall  girl  knows 
more  than  she  has  told.  In  fact,  I  was  on  the 
point  of  sending  for  her.  Please  wait  until  she 
arrives.  Perhaps  we  can  straighten  out  this 
whole  unpleasant  affair  informally.  I'll  need 
Phillips,  too.  Meanwhile,  there's  a  friend  of 
yours  inside."  Stepping  to  the  inner  door,  he 
spoke  to  some  one,  and  an  instant  later  the 
Countess  Courteau  came  forth. 

Rouletta  had  not  seen  the  Countess  alone  since 
early  the  previous  evening.  She  went  swiftly  to 
her  now  and  placed  an  arm  about  her  shoulders. 

485 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Hilda  responded  to  this  mark  of  sympathy  with 
a  weary  smile. 

"Well,  I  had  to  go  through  with  it  to  the  bitter 
end,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  " Henri  didn't 
spare  me  even  that." 

Rouletta  pressed  her  closer,  murmuring:  "Colo- 
nel Cavendish  is  a  fine  man — I'm  sure  he  under- 
stands. You've  undergone  a  dreadful  ordeal,  but 
— it's  nearly  over.  He's  sending  for  Laure  now. 
She  can  tell  a  good  deal,  if  she  will." 

"About  the  theft,  yes.  But  what  about  the 
— murder?  Joe  McCaskey  did  it.  There's  no 
doubt  about  that.  Henri  weakened,  after  I  gave 
him  his  chance.  He  got  to  drinking,  I  hear,  and 
evidently  he  conceived  the  notion  of  telling  those 
men.  He  may  have  gone  to  warn  them,  to  ap- 
peal to  them.  I  don't  know.  Then  they  must 
have  quarreled.  It's  all  clear  enough  when  you 
understand  the  inside  facts.  Without  knowing 
them,  it  was  natural  to  suspect  Pierce,  so — I  did 
what  I  had  to  do.  I  doubt  if  Laure  knows  any- 
thing about  this  part  of  the  affair." 

The  two  women  were  still  talking  when  Laure 
entered,  in  company  with  the  Mounted  Police 
officer  who  had  been  sent  to  fetch  her.  At  sight 
of  them  she  halted;  a  sudden  pallor  came  into 
her  cheeks;  she  cast  a  glance  of  alarm  about  her 
as  if  seeking  retreat ;  but  Colonel  Cavendish  grimly 
invited  her  to  follow  him,  and  stepped  into  his  pri- 
vate office.  The  new-comer  faltered;  then  with  a 
defiant  toss  of  her  head  and  with  lips  curled  in 
disdain  she  obeyed;  the  door  closed  behind  her. 

486 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Rouletta  and  the  Countess  Courteau  fell  silent 
now.  They  found  nothing  to  talk  about,  and  in 
spite  of  themselves  they  strained  their  ears  for 
some  sound  from  the  other  room.  Even  Miss 
Cavendish  seemed  vaguely  to  feel  the  suspense, 
for  she  finally  took  her  stand  beside  a  frost-rimed 
window  and  engaged  herself  in  tracing  patterns 
thereon  with  the  tip  of  her  finger.  An  occasional 
stormy  murmur  of  voices,  deadened  by  the  thick 
log  partition,  indicated  that  Laure  and  her  in- 
quisitor were  not  getting  on  well  together. 

Suddenly  the  girl  at  the  window  started;  her 
apathy  vanished;  her  expression  of  boredom  gave 
place  to  one  of  such  lively  anticipation  as  to  draw 
the  attention  of  the  two  other  women.  A  magic 
change  came  over  her;  she  became  suddenly 
animated,  alive,  athigle  in  every  nerve;  her  eyes 
sparkled  and  a  new  color  flooded  her  cheeks. 
The  alteration  interested  her  observers;  they  were 
mystified  as  to  its  cause  until  a  quick  step  sounded 
in  the  entry  and  the  door  opened  to  admit  Pierce 
Phillips. 

It  was  natural  that  he  should  first  see  Miss 
Cavendish,  and  that  he  should  greet  her  before 
recognizing  the  other  occupants  of  the  room.  It 
was  natural,  too,  that  he  should  be  a  trifle  non- 
plussed at  finding  Hilda  here;  nevertheless,  he 
managed  to  cover  his  lack  of  ease.  Not  so,  how- 
ever, when,  a  moment  later,  the  door  to  Colonel 
Cavendish's  office  opened  and  Laure,  of  all  per- 
sons, appeared  therein.  Quickly  Pierce  inferred 
the  reason  for  his  summons,  but,  happily  for  him, 

487 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

he  was  spared  further  embarrassment.  Cavendish 
called  to  him,  took  him  by  the  hand  in  the  friend- 
liest manner,  and  again  disappeared  into  his  re- 
treat, drawing  the  young  man  with  him. 

Brief  as  had  been  the  interruption,  both  Hilda 
and  Rouletta  had  gathered  much  from  it;  their 
inference  was  borne  out  when  Laure  paused  be- 
fore them  and  in  a  voice  subdued  by  the  very 
force  of  her  agitation  exclaimed: 

"Well,  I  hope  you're  satisfied!  I  got  it,  and 
got  it  good."  Her  face  was  livid,  her  dark  eyes 
were  blazing  wrathfully.  She  outthrust  a  shak- 
ing hand  and  unclenched  her  fingers,  displaying 
therein  a  crumpled  sheet  of  pink  paper,  a  printed 
official  form,  the  telltale  tint  of  which  indicated 
its  fateful  character.  Both  of  her  hearers  were 
familiar  with  the  so-called  "pink  tickets"  of  the 
Mounted  Police;  every  one  in  the  Northwest 
Territory,  in  fact,  knew  what  they  were — de- 
portation orders.  But  in  a  tone  hoarse  and  sup- 
pressed Laure  read,  '" — leave  by  the  first  safe 
conveyance!'  That's  what  it  says — the  first  safe 
conveyance.  I  suppose  you'd  like  it  better  if  it 
were  a  blue  ticket  and  I  had  to  leave  in  twenty- 
four  hours.  You  put  it  over,  but  I  won't  forget. 
I'll  get  even  with  you." 

"We  had  nothing  to  do  with  that,"  the  Countess 
declared,  quietly.  "I'm  sorry  you  take  it  so  hard, 
but — it  serves  you  right." 

"Who  wouldn't  take  it  hard?  To  be  expelled, 
fired  out  like  a  thief,  a — "  The  girl's  voice  broke; 
then  she  pulled  herself  together  and  uttered  a 

488 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

quavering,  artificial  laugh.  She  tossed  her  head 
again,  with  an  obvious  attempt  at  defiance.  "Oh, 
it  takes  more  than  a  pink  ticket  to  down  me! 
Anyhow,  I'm  sick  of  this  place,  sick  of  the  people. 
I  hate  them."  With  a  vicious  fling  of  her  shoul- 
ders she  swept  on  to  a  seat  as  far  from  them  as 
possible  and  sank  into  it. 

So  the  girl  had  confessed,  Hilda  reflected.  She 
was  glad,  for  Pierce's  sake,  that  this  miserable 
complication  was  in  process  of  clearing  up  and 
that  he  would  be  finally  and  completely  exon- 
erated; she  was  glad,  too,  that  her  efforts  hi  his 
behalf,  her  humiliation,  had  borne  fruit.  He 
would  never  know  how  high  he  had  made  her 
pay,  but  that  was  all  right.  She  felt  very  gently 
toward  him  at  this  moment,  and  experienced  a 
certain  wistful  desire  that  he  might  understand 
how  unselfish  had  been  her  part.  It  might  make 
a  difference;  probably  it  would.  Things  now 
were  not  as  they  had  been.  She  was  a  free  woman. 
This  thought  obtruded  itself  insistently  into  the 
midst  of  her  meditations.  Yes,  Courteau  was 
gone;  there  was  no  reason  now  why  she  could 
not  look  any  man  honestly  in  the  eye.  Of  course, 
there  was  the  same  disparity  in  years  between  her 
and  Pierce  which  she  had  recognized  from  the 
beginning,  but,  after  all,  was  that  necessarily 
fatal?  He  had  loved  her  genuinely  enough  at 
one  time.  Hilda  recalled  that  windy  night  on 
the  shores  of  Linderman  when  the  whimper  of  a 
rising  storm  came  out  of  the  darkness,  when  the 
tree-tops  tossed  their  branches  to  the  sky,  and 

489 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

when  her  own  soul  had  broken  its  fetters  and  defied 
restraint.  She  thrilled  at  memory  of  those  strong 
young  arms  about  her,  those  hot  lips  pressing  hers. 
That  was  a  moment  to  remember  always.  And 
those  dreamy,  magic  days  that  had  followed,  the 
more  delightful,  the  more  unreal  because  she  had 
deliberately  drugged  her  conscience.  Then  that 
night  at  White  Horse!  He  had  told  her  bitterly, 
broken-heartedly,  that  he  could  never  forget. 
Perhaps  even  yet —  With  an  effort  Hilda  Cour- 
teau  roused  herself.  Never  forget?  Wliy,  he 
had  forgotten  the  very  next  day,  as  was  quite 
natural.  No,  she  was  a  foolish  sentimentalist,  and 
he — well,  he  was  just  one  whom  fate  had  cast 
for  a  lover's  r61e,  one  destined  to  excite  affection 
in  women,  good  and  bad.  Some  day  he  would 
find  his  mate  and — Hilda  believed  she  loved  him 
well  enough  to  rejoice  in  his  happiness  when  it 
came.  There  spoke  the  maternal  instinct  which 
Phillips  had  the  knack  of  rousing;  for  want  of 
something  better,  she  determined  she  would 
cherish  that. 

Meanwhile  Laure  sat  in  her  corner,  her  head 
bowed,  her  very  soul  in  revolt.  She  was  tasting 
failure,  disappointment,  balked  desire,  and  it  was 
like  gall  in  her  mouth.  She  could  have  cried  out 
aloud  in  her  rage.  She  hated  these  other  women 
whom  she  blamed  for  her  undoing;  she  hated 
Cavendish,  Pierce  Phillips,  herself. 

"It  serves  me  right,"  she  told  herself,  furiously. 
"I  deserve  the  pink  ticket  for  making  a  fool  of 
myself.  Yes,  a  fool!  What  has  Pierce  ever  done 

490 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

for  me?  Nothing.  And  I — ?"  Before  her  mind's 
eye  came  a  vision  of  the  opportunities  she  had 
let  slip,  the  chances  she  had  ignored.  She  knew 
full  well  that  she  could  have  had  the  pick  of  many 
men — the  new-made  millionaires  of  Dawson— but 
instead  she  had  chosen  him.  And  why?  Merely 
because  he  had  a  way,  a  smile,  a  warm  and 
pleasing  personality — some  magnetic  appeal  too 
intangible  to  identify.  It  was  like  her  to  make 
the  wrong  choice — she  always  did.  She  had 
come  North  with  but  one  desire,  one  determina- 
tion— namely,  to  make  money,  to  reap  to  the  full 
her  share  of  this  free  harvest.  She  had  given  up 
the  life  she  liked,  the  people  she  knew,  the  com- 
forts she  craved,  for  that  and  for  nothing  else, 
and  what  a  mess  she  had  made  of  the  venture! 
Other  girls  not  hah7  so  smart,  not  half  so  pretty 
as  she,  had  feathered  their  nests  right  here  be- 
fore her  eyes,  while  she  was  wasting  her  tune. 
They  had  kept  their  heads,  and  they  would  go 
out  in  the  spring,  first  class,  with  good  clothes 
and  a  bank-roll  in  the  purser's  safe.  Some  of 
them  were  married  and  respectable.  "Never 
again!"  she  whispered  to  herself.  "The  next  one 
will  pay."  Chagrin  at  the  treatment  she  had  suf- 
fered filled  her  with  a  poisonous  hatred  of  all 
mankind,  and  soundlessly  she  cursed  Phillips  as 
the  cause  of  her  present  plight. 

Such  thoughts  as  these  ran  tumbling  through 
the  girl's  mind;  her  rage  and  her  resentment  were 
real  enough;  nevertheless,  through  this  overtone 
there  ran  another  note;  a  small  voice  was  speaking 

32  491 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

in  the  midst  of  all  her  tumult — a  small  voice  which 
she  refused  to  listen  to.  "What  I  ever  saw  in 
him  I  don't  know/'  she  sneered,  goading  herself 
to  further  bitterness  and  stiffening  her  courage. 
"I  never  really  cared  for  him;  I'm  too  wise  for 
that.  I  don't  care  for  him  now.  I  detest  the 
poor,  simple-minded  fool.  I — hate  him."  So  she 
fought  with  herself,  drowning  the  persistent  piping 
of  that  other  voice.  Then  her  eyes  dropped  to 
that  fatal  paper  in  her  lap  and  suddenly  venom 
fled  from  her.  She  wondered  if  Cavendish  would 
tell  Pierce  that  he  had  given  her  the  pink  ticket. 
Probably  not.  The  Mounted  Police  were  usually 
close-mouthed  about  such  things,  and  yet — 
Laure  crushed  the  paper  into  a  crumpled  ball 
and  furtively  hid  it  in  the  pocket  of  her  coat; 
then  she  raised  wild,  apprehensive  eyes  to  the 
door.  If  only  she  dared  slip  out  now,  before  Pierce 
reappeared,  before  he  had  a  chance  to  see  her. 
It  seemed  as  if  she  could  not  bear  to  have  him 
know,  but — Cavendish  had  ordered  her  to  wait. 
"My  God!"  the  girl  whispered.  "I'll  die,  if  he 
knows!  I'll  die!"  She  began  to  tremble  wretch- 
edly and  to  wring  her  hands;  she  could  not  re- 
move her  gaze  from  the  door. 

This  waiting-room  at  the  Barracks  had  housed 
people  of  divers  and  many  sorts  during  its  brief 
history;  it  had  harbored  strained  faces,  it  had 
been  the  scene  of  strong  emotional  conflicts,  but 
never,  perhaps,  had  its  narrow  walls  encompassed 
emotions  in  wider  contrast  than  those  experienced 
by  the  four  silent  women  who  waited  there  at 

492 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

this  moment.  One  object  of  interest  dominated 
the  thoughts  of  each  of  them.  These  thoughts 
were  similar  in  nature  and  sprang  from  the  same 
starting-point.  Curiously  enough,  however,  they 
took  channels  as  wide  apart  as  the  poles. 

Josephine  Cavendish  had  heard  just  enough 
about  the  incidents  of  the  previous  night  to 
awaken  her  apprehensions  and  to  stir  her  feeling 
of  loyalty  to  the  depths.  The  suggestion  that 
Pierce  Phillips  was  in  the  slightest  degree  respon- 
sible for  the  death  of  Count  Courteau  had  roused 
her  indignation  and  her  fighting-blood.  Unable 
to  endure  the  suspense  of  idle  waiting,  she  had 
sought  relief  by  assuming  a  sort  of  sentinel  post 
where  she  could  watch  developments.  It  was 
something  to  be  close  to  his  affairs.  It  was  next 
to  being  close  to  him;  hence  the  reason  of  her 
presence  and  her  insistence  upon  remaining. 

In  her  mind  there  had  never  been  the  slightest 
question  of  Pierce's  innocence;  any  doubt  of  it, 
expressed  or  implied,  awoke  in  her  a  sharp  and 
bitter  antagonism  quite  remarkable;  no  bird 
could  have  flown  quicker  to  the  aid  of  her  chick, 
no  wolf  mother  could  have  bristled  more  fero- 
ciously at  threat  to  her  cub,  than  did  this  serene, 
inexperienced  girl-woman  at  hint  of  peril  to  Pierce 
Phillips.  And  yet,  on  the  surface,  at  least,  she 
and  Pierce  were  only  friends.  He  had  never 
voiced  a  word  of  love  to  her.  But — of  what  use 
are  words  when  hearts  are  full  and  when  con- 
fession lurks  in  every  glance,  every  gesture;  when 
every  commonplace  is  thrilling  and  significant? 

493 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

In  her  eyes  no  disgrace  whatever  attached  to 
him  as  a  result  of  the  notoriety  he  had  suffered. 
On  the  contrary,  she  considered  him  a  martyr, 
a  hero,  the  object  of  a  deep  conspiracy,  and  his 
wrongs  smarted  her.  He  was,  in  short,  a  romantic 
figure.  Moreover,  she  had  recently  begun  to  be- 
lieve that  this  entire  situation  was  contrived  pure- 
ly for  the  purpose  of  bringing  them  together,  of 
acquainting  them  with  each  other,  and  of  testing 
the  strength  of  their  mutual  regard.  These 
other  women,  whom  she  saw  to-day  for  the  first 
time,  she  considered  merely  extra  figures  in  the 
drama  of  which  she  and  Pierce  played  the  leads — 
witnesses  hi  the  case  deserving  no  attention.  She 
would  be  grateful  to  them,  of  course,  if  they  suc- 
ceeded in  helping  him,  but,  at  best,  they  were 
minor  characters,  supers  in  the  cast.  Once  Pierce 
himself  strode  into  the  scene,  she  forgot  them 
entirely. 

What  a  picture  her  lover  made,  she  reflected; 
how  he  rilled  her  eye!  What  importance  he  pos- 
sessed! Surely  the  world  must  see  and  feel  how 
dominant,  how  splendid  he  was.  It  must  recog- 
nize how  impossible  it  would  be  for  him  to  do 
wrong.  The  mere  sight  of  him  had  set  her  to 
vibrating,  and  now  inspired  in  her  a  certain  reck- 
less abandon;  guilty  or  innocent,  he  was  her 
mate  and  she  would  have  followed  him  at  a  word. 
But — he  was  innocent;  it  was  her  part  to  wait 
here  as  patiently  as  she  could  until  the  fact  was 
proved  and  until  he  could  ask  that  question  which 
forever  trembled  between  them. 

494 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

Such  thoughts  as  these  were  impossible  to  con- 
ceal; they  were  mirrored  upon  the  face  of  the 
colonel's  daughter  as  she  stood  raptly  gazing  at  the 
door  through  which  Pierce  Phillips  had  disap- 
peared. Her  lips  were  parted;  the  shadow  of  the 
smile  his  coming  had  evoked  still  lingered  upon 
them;  her  soul  was  in  her  shining  eyes.  Un- 
known to  her,  at  least  one  of  the  other  women 
present  had  read  her  sudden  emotions  and  now 
watched  her  curiously,  with  an  intent  and  growing 
astonishment. 

Rouletta  Kirby  had  been  as  quick  as  the  Count- 
ess to  correctly  interpret  Laure's  chagrin,  and 
she,  too,  had  experienced  a  tremendous  relief. 
Oddly  enough,  however,  she  had  felt  no  such 
fierce  and  jealous  exultation  as  she  had  antici- 
pated; there  had  been  no  selfish  thrill  such  as 
she  had  expected.  What  ailed  her?  she  wondered. 
While  groping  for  an  answer,  her  attention  had 
been  challenged  by  the  expression  upon  Miss 
Cavendish's  face,  and  vaguely  she  began  to 
comprehend  the  truth.  Breathlessly  now  she 
watched  the  girl;  slowly  conviction  grew  into 
certainty. 

So!  That  was  why  the  colonel's  daughter  was 
here.  That  was  why,  at  sound  of  a  certain  step, 
she  had  become  glorified.  That  was  why  Pierce 
had  been  blind  to  her  own  and  Hilda's  presence 
in  the  room. 

It  would  be  untrue  to  say  that  Rouletta  was 
not  shocked  by  this  discovery.  It  came  like  a 
thunderclap,  and  its  very  unexpectedness  jolted 

495 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

her  mind  out  of  the  ruts  it  had  been  following 
these  many  days.  But,  astonishing  to  relate,  it 
caused  her  no  anguish.  After  the  first  moment 
or  two  of  dizzy  bewilderment  had  passed  she 
found  that  her  whole  being  was  galvanized  into 
new  life  and  that  the  eyes  of  her  soul  were  opened 
to  a  new  light.  With  understanding  came  a 
peculiar  emotional  let-down,  a  sudden,  welcome 
relaxation — almost  a  sensation  of  relief. 

Rouletta  asked  herself,  over  and  over,  what 
could  be  the  matter  with  her;  why  she  felt  no 
twinge,  no  jealousy;  why  the  sight  of  that  eager, 
breathless  girl  with  the  rapturous  face  failed  to 
cause  her  a  heartache.  She  was  amazed  at  her- 
self. It  could  not  be  that  she  no  longer  cared  for 
Pierce,  that  she  had  mistaken  her  feelings  toward 
him.  No,  he  was  what  he  had  always  been — her 
ideal — the  finest,  the  most  lovable,  the  dearest 
creature  she  had  ever  met;  just  the  sort  of  fellow 
she  had  always  longed  to  know,  the  kind  any 
girl  would  crave  for  lover,  friend,  brother.  She 
felt  very  tender  toward  him.  She  was  not  great- 
ly surprised  that  the  nicest  girl  in  Dawson  had 
recognized  his  charm  and  had  surrendered  to  it. 
Well,  he  deserved  the  nicest  girl  hi  the  world. 

Rouletta  was  startled  at  the  direction  her 
thoughts  were  taking.  Did  she  love  Pierce 
Phillips  as  she  had  believed  she  did,  or  had  she 
merely  fallen  in  love  with  his  good  qualities? 
Certainly  he  had  never  been  dearer  to  her  than 
he  was  at  this  moment,  and  yet —  Rouletta 
abandoned  the  problem  of  self-analysis  and  al- 

496 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

lowed  her  bubbling  relief  at  the  turn  events  had 
taken  to  remain  a  mystery  for  the  time  being. 

The  door  to  the  commandant's  office  opened 
without  warning.  Pierce  stood  framed  in  it. 
His  head  was  up,  his  shoulders  were  back,  his 
countenance  was  alight;  with  confident  tread  he 
entered  the  big  room  and  crossed  it  directly  to  the 
girl  who  stood  waiting  beside  the  table.  He  held 
out  his  two  hands  to  her  and  with  a  flash  of  her 
clear  blue  eyes  she  placed  hers  in  his.  Gladness, 
trust,  blind  faith,  and  adoration  were  in  her  face. 
She  murmured  something  which  Rouletta  did  not 
hear,  for  at  that  instant  Colonel  Cavendish  ap- 
peared with  the  curt  announcement: 

"That  is  all,  ladies.  You  needn't  remain 
longer." 

Blindly,  confusedly,  Rouletta  rose  and  fumbled 
with  her  wraps.  She  saw  the  colonel  go  to  Laure 
and  speak  with  her  in  a  stiff,  formal  way.  She 
saw  Pierce  and  Josephine  turn  away  hand  in 
hand,  their  heads  close  together — he  had  not 
even  glanced  in  her  direction;  then  Cavendish 
was  speaking  to  her  directly. 

At  first  she  did  not  understand  him,  but  finally 
made  out  that  he  was  telling  her  that  everything 
had  been  cleared  up,  including  even  the  mystery 
of  Count  Courteau's  gold-sack. 

"Laure  confessed  that  she  got  a  duplicate  key 
to  the  cashier's  cage,"  she  heard  the  colonel  say. 
"Got  it  from  Pierce.  It  was  she  who  put  the 
evidence  in  there  during  the  confusion.  Pretty 
ingenious,  I  call  it,  and  pretty  spiteful." 

497 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Did  she — have  anything  to  say  about  the — 
the  murder?"  Rouletta  inquired. 

"No.  But  the  Countess  has  that  figured  out 
right,  I'm  sure.  We'll  have  the  proof  when 
Rock  brings  back  his  prisoners." 

As  Rouletta  moved  toward  the  door  Pierce 
stopped  her.  There  was  a  ring  ui  his  voice  as 
he  said: 

"Rouletta,  I  want  you  to  meet  Miss  Cavendish. 
I  want  the  two  nicest  girls  in  the  world  to  know 
each  other.  Josephine,  this  is  Miss  Kirby,  of 
whom  I've  said  so  much."  Then  without  reason 
he  laughed  joyously,  and  so  did  the  colonel's 
daughter. 

The  latter  took  Rouletta's  hand  in  a  warm  and 
friendly  clasp.  Her  smiling  lips  were  tremulous. 
Engagingly,  shyly,  she  said: 

"Pierce  has  told  me  how  splendid  you've  been 
to  him,  and  I'm  sure  you're  as  happy  as  we  are, 
but — things  always  come  out  right  if  we  wish  for 
them  hard  enough.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

The  Countess  Courteau  was  walking  slowly 
when  Rouletta  overtook  her  a  block  or  so  down 
the  street.  She  looked  up  as  the  younger  woman 
joined  her. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "I  presume  you  saw.  Not  a 
look,  not  a  thought  for  any  one  but  her — that 
other  girl." 

"Yes,  I  saw."  There  was  a  pause,  then:  "She's 
wonderful.  I  think  I'm  very  glad." 

"Glad?"  Hilda  raised  her  brows;  she  glanced 
curiously  at  the  speaker. 

498 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"If  I  had  a  brother  I'd  want  him  to  love  a  girl 
like  that." 

"But — you  have  no  brother,  outside  of  'Poleon 
Doret."  Hilda  was  more  than  ever  amazed  when 
her  companion  laughed  softly,  contentedly. 

"I  know,  but  H  I  had  one,  I'd  want  him  to  be 
like — Pierce.  I—  My  dear,  something  has 
changed  in  me,  oh,  surprisingly!  I  scarcely  know 
what  it  is,  but — I'm  walking  on  air  and  my  eyes 
are  open  for  the  first  tune.  And  you?  We've 
been  honest  with  each  other — how  do  you  feel?" 

"I?"  The  Countess  smiled  wistfully.  "Why 
— it  doesn't  matter  how  I  feel!-  The  boy  has 
found  himself,  and  nothing  else  is  of  the  least 
importance." 


CHAPTER  XXX 

JOE  McCASKEY  was  not  a  coward,  neither  was 
he  a  superstitious  man,  but  he  had  imagination. 
The  steady  strain  of  his  and  Frank's  long  flight, 
the  certainty  of  pursuit  close  behind,  had  frayed 
his  nerve  and  rendered  him  jumpy.  For  a  man  in 
his  condition  to  be  awakened  out  of  a  trancelike 
sleep  by  an  intruder  at  once  invisible,  dumb;  to 
feel  the  presence  of  that  mysterious  visitor  and 
actually  to  see  him — it — bulked  dim  and  formless 
among  the  darting  shadows  cast  by  a  blazing 
match — was  a  test  indeed.  It  was  too  much  for 
Joe. 

As  for  Frank,  he  had  actually  seen  nothing, 
heard  nothing  except  his  brother's  voice,  and 
then — that  sigh.  For  that  very  reason  his  terror 
was,  if  anything,  even  greater  than  his  brother's. 

During  what  seemed  an  age  there  was  no  sound 
except  the  stertorous  breathing  of  the  McCaskeys 
themselves  and  the  stir  of  the  dogs  outside.  The 
pale  square  of  the  single  window,  over  which  a 
bleached-out  cotton  flour-sack  had  been  tacked, 
let  in  only  enough  light  to  intensify  the  gloom. 
Within  the  cabin  was  a  blackness  thick,  tangible, 
oppressive;  the  brothers  stared  into  it  with  bulg- 

500 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

ing  eyes  and  listened  with  ear-drums  strained  to 
the  point  of  rupture.  Oddly  enough,  this  utter 
silence  augmented  their  agitation.  Unable  finally 
to  smother  the  evidence  of  his  steadily  growing 
fright,  Frank  uttered  a  half-audible  moan.  Joe 
in  the  next  bunk  put  it  down  as  a  new  and  threat- 
ening phenomenon.  What  sort  of  thing  was  it 
that  sighed  and  moaned  thus?  As  evidence  of 
the  direction  Joe's  mind  was  taking,  he  wondered 
if  these  sounds  could  be  the  complaint  of  Cour- 
teau's  unshriven  spirit.  It  was  a  shocking  thought, 
but  involuntarily  he  gasped  the  dead  man's  name. 
A  guilty  conscience  is  a  proven  coward-maker; 
so,  too,  is  a  quick,  imaginative  mind.  It  took 
only  a  moment  or  two  to  convince  Joe  that  this 
nocturnal  interloper  was  not  a  creature  of  flesh 
and  blood,  but  some  enormous,  unmentionable, 
creeping  thing  come  out  of  the  other  world — out 
of  the  cold  earth — to  visit  punishment  upon  him 
for  his  crime.  He  could  hear  it  stirring,  finally, 
now  here,  now  there;  he  could  make  out  the 
rustle  of  its  grave-clothes.  There  is  no  doubt 
that  the  cabin  was  full  of  half-distinguishable 
sounds — so  is  any  warm  habitation — but  to  Joe's 
panicky  imagination  the  nature  of  these  particular 
sounds  indicated  that  they  could  not  come  from 
any  normal,  living  being.  There  was,  for  in- 
stance, a  slow,  asthmatic  wheezing,  like  the 
breath  of  a  sorely  wounded  man;  a  stretching  and 
straining  as  of  a  body  racked  with  mortal  agony; 
even  a  faint  bubbling  choke  like  a  death-rattle 
heard  in  an  adjoining  chamber.  These  and  others 

501 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

as  horribly  suggestive.  Joe's  wild  agitation  dis- 
torted all  of  them,  no  matter  whether  they  came 
from  his  brother  Frank,  from  the  poorly  seasoned 
pole  rafters  overhead,  or  from  the  sleepy  dogs 
outside,  and  'Poleon  Doret,  with  a  grim  internal 
chuckle,  took  advantage  of  the  fact. 

When  finally  the  elder  McCaskey  heard  his  own 
name  whispered,  the  last  shred  of  self-control 
left  to  him  was  whipped  away;  his  wits  went 
skittering,  and  for  a  second  time  he  groped  with 
frantic,  twitching  fingers  fcr  his  revolver.  He 
raised  it  and,  with  a  yell,  fired  at  random  into 
the  blackness,  meanwhile  covering  his  eyes  with 
his  left  arm  for  fear  of  beholding  in  the  sulphur- 
ous flash  that  bloodless,  fleshless  menace,  what- 
ever it  might  be. 

Somehow  he  managed  to  get  out  of  bed  and  to 
place  his  back  against  the  wall,  and  there  he 
cowered  until  he  heard  his  brother's  body  thresh- 
ing about  the  floor.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  that  shot 
had  sent  Frank  sprawling  from  his  bunk,  and  he 
was  striving  to  kick  off  the  hampering  folds  of 
his  sleeping-bag,  nothing  more;  but  the  thump- 
ing of  his  knees  and  elbows  bore  a  dreadful  sig- 
nificance to  the  terrified  listener.  Evidently  the 
Thing  had  closed  in — had  grappled  with  Frank. 
Its  hands,  damp  with  death  sweat,  even  now 
were  groping  for  him,  Joe.  The  thought  was 
unbearable. 

Blindly  the  elder  brother  thrust  his  revolver 
at  full  length  hi  front  of  him  and  pulled  the 
trigger;  Frank  shrieked,  but  again  and  again  Joe 

502 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

fired,  and  when  the  last  cartridge  was  spent  he 
continued  to  snap  the  weapon.  He  desisted  only 
when  he  heard  a  voice,  faint,  but  hoarse  with 
agony,  crying: 

"O  God!  You've  shot  me,  Joe!  You've  shot 
me!" 

Then  and  not  until  then,  did  a  sort  of  sanity 
come  to  the  wretch.  The  revolver  slipped  from 
his  fingers;  he  felt  his  bones  dissolving  into  water; 
a  horror  ten  times  greater  than  he  had  previously 
suffered  fell  upon  him.  He  tried  to  speak,  to 
throw  off  this  hideous  nightmare,  but  his  voice 
came  only  as  a  dry,  reedy  whisper. 

Frank  was  still  now;  he  did  not  respond  to  his 
brother's  incoherencies  except  with  a  deep  groan- 
ing that  momentarily  became  more  alarming. 

"I— I— didn't—  Christ!  I  didn't  shoot  you 
.  .  .  Frank! .  .  .  Answer  me!  Say  something.  ..." 
Even  yet  the  dread  of  that  hobgoblin  presence 
lay  like  ice  upon  the  elder  brother;  he  feared  to 
move  lest  he  encounter  it,  lest  he  touch  it  and  it 
enfold  him;  but  when  Frank's  twitching  body 
became  still  he  fell  to  his  knees  and  went  groping 
forward  on  all-fours  in  search  of  it.  Death  was 
here  now.  He  had  slain  his  brother  and  there  was 
no  light! 

Joe  began  to  sob  and  to  chatter  in  a  maudlin 
hysteria  of  fright  and  apprehension.  He  suc- 
ceeded in  finding  Frank  by  the  sound  of  his  breath- 
ing, and  he  was  pawing  at  him  and  wildly  calling 
his  name  when  at  his  back  a  match  was  struck. 

The  sound,  the  flare,  brought  a  scream  from  his 
603 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

throat.  He  cringed  and  cowered;  the  pallid  face 
he  raised  was  slack-jawed,  his  gaze  was  that  of 
a  crazy  man. 

Slowly,  very  slowly  his  dementia  left  him.  His 
eyes  were  still  distended,  to  be  sure,  but  into  them 
sanity,  recognition,  began  to  creep.  He  stared 
dazedly  about  him,  and  at  last  he  managed  to 
speak  Doret's  name. 

"Wh-what  you  doing — here?"  he  breathed. 

"Me?    I  come  to  tak'  you  back." 

Joe  shook  his  head  weakly.  "You  can't. 
We're  across — safe."  His  eyes  dropped  to  the 
prostrate  body  beside  which  he  knelt,  and  a  new 
thought  swiftly  flooded  his  vacant  mind.  "Look! 
You —  Now  I  understand.  You  did  it!  You 
shot  him.  I  never —  By  God!"  The  fellow's 
insane  vehemence,  the  panting  eagerness  with 
which  he  undertook  to  absolve  himself  from  the 
hideous  results  of  his  deed,  argued  that  he  loved 
his  brother.  He  rose  slowly  to  his  feet,  his  coun- 
tenance flaming,  his  gaze  fixed  in  an  arresting 
expression  of  mingled  rage  and  horror  upon  the 
woodsman's  face.  "You  did  it,  damn  you!  Shot 
him,  in  the  dark,  asleep!  Now  you  want  me.  .  .  . 
Take  me  back,  eh?  You  can't  do  it.  I'm  safe 
...  safe  ...!" 

'Poleon  uttered  a  grunt.  He  leaned  his  car- 
bine against  the  wall  behind  him,  and  from  his 
pocket  he  drew  a  thin  cotton  sled-rope.  With 
this  in  his  hand  he  advanced  upon  the  slayer. 

McCaskey  retreated.  Weakly  at  first  he  fought 
off  his  captor;  then,  as  fear  overwhelmed  him,  he 

504 


THE. WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

became  possessed  of  a  phrenetic  energy  and  strug- 
gled with  the  strength  of  two  men.  He  struck, 
he  bit,  he  clawed,  he  kicked.  It  was  like  the 
battle  of  a  man  with  a  beast — ferocious,  merciless 
—while  it  lasted.  They  rocked  about  the  cabin, 
heedless  of  the  wounded  man;  the  stove  came 
crashing  down  and  they  trampled  the  pipe  under 
their  feet. 

But  McCaskey  collapsed  as  suddenly  as  he  had 
flown  to  action.  When  'Poleon  trussed  him  up 
he  had  neither  strength  nor  spirit  either  for  re- 
sistance or  for  resentment.  He  was  as  spineless 
as  a  wet  sack.  With  anguished  eyes  he  watched 
his  captor  lift  Frank  into  a  bunk  and  then  pro- 
ceed to  do  what  remained  to  be  done.  Bleak  of 
face,  lifeless  of  voice,  hopeless  of  expression,  he 
answered  the  questions  put  to  him  and  made  no 
feeblest  effort  at  concealment.  He  was,  in  fact, 
no  longer  capable  of  any  resistance,  mental  or 
physical. 

Frank  died  as  the  first  ashen  streaks  of  dawn 
came  through  the  window  and  lit  the  sickly  face 
of  the  brother  who  had  slain  him.  There  was  no 
longer  need  of  the  rope;  in  fact,  Joe  implored  his 
captor  with  such  earnestness  not  to  leave  him 
alone  that  'Poleon  untied  his  hands,  feeling  sure 
that  he  was  impotent.  Joe  followed  him  outside, 
and  stood  near  by  while  he  harnessed  the  dogs; 
he  accompanied  eveiy  step  the  woodsman  took — 
wild  horses  could  not  have  dragged  him  away  in 
his  present  frame  of  mind — and  finally,  when  they 
set  out  back  toward  the  Canadian  Line,  he  sham- 

505 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

bled  along  ahead  of  the  team  with  head  down  and 
eyes  averted  from  the  gruesome  bundle  that  lay 
in  the  sled.  His  punishment  had  overtaken  him 
and  he  was  unequal  to  it. 

Dawson  was  in  ferment,  for  the  news  of  another 
"strike"  had  come  in  and  a  stampede  was  under 
way.  Discoveries  of  gold,  or  rumors  of  them, 
had  been  common.  The  camp  had  thrilled  to 
many  Arabian  Nights  tales,  but  this  one  was 
quite  the  most  sensational  of  all.  So  amazing, 
so  unbelievable  was  it,  in  truth,  that  those  who 
had  been  too  often  fooled  laughed  at  it  and  de- 
clared it  impossible  on  its  face.  Some  wood- 
cutters on  the  hills  above  El  Dorado  had  been 
getting  out  dry  timber  for  the  drift  fires,  so  ran 
the  report,  and  in  shooting  the  tree-trunks  down 
into  the  valley  they  had  discovered  a  deposit  of 
wash  gravel.  One  of  them,  possessed  of  the  pros- 
pector's instinct,  had  gophered  a  capful  of  the 
gravel  from  off  the  rim  where  the  plunging  tree- 
trunks  had  dug  through  the  snow  and  exposed  the 
outcropping  bedrock,  and,  to  satisfy  his  curiosity, 
had  taken  it  down  to  camp  for  a  test.  He  had 
thawed  and  panned  it;  to  his  amazement,  he  had 
discovered  that  it  carried  an  astonishing  value  in 
gold — coarse,  rough  gold — exactly  like  that  in  the 
creek  pay-streak,  except  with  less  signs  of  abrasion 
and  erosion.  Rumor  placed  the  contents  of  that 
first  prospect  at  ten  dollars.  Ten  cents  would  have 
meant  the  riches  of  Aladdin,  but — ten  dollars! 
No  wonder  the  wiseacres  shook  their  heads.  Ten 

506 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

dollars  to  the  pan,  on  a  hilltop!  Absurd!  How 
did  metal  of  that  specific  gravity  get  up  there? 
How  could  there  be  wash  gravel  on  the  crest  of 
a  mountain?  There  was  no  sense  to  such  a 
proposition. 

But  such  old  California  placer  miners  as  chanced 
to  hear  of  it  lost  no  time  in  hitting  the  trail.  They 
were  familiar  with  high  bars,  prehistoric  river- 
beds, and  they  went  as  fast  as  their  old  legs 
would  carry  them. 

More  faith  was  put  in  the  story  when  it  became 
known  that  the  diggings  were  being  deserted  and 
that  the  men  of  El  Dorado  and  Bonanza  were 
quitting  their  jobs,  actually  leaving  their  thawed 
drifts  to  freeze  while  they  scattered  over  the 
domes  and  saddles  round  about,  staking  claims. 
That  settled  matters,  so  far  as  Dawson  was  con- 
cerned; men  who  had  dogs  hitched  them  up, 
those  who  had  none  rolled  their  packs;  soon  the 
trail  up  the  Klondike  was  black  and  the  recorder's 
office  prepared  for  riotous  activity. 

Those  who  had  set  out  thus  late  met  excited 
travelers  hastening  townward,  and  from  them  ob- 
tained confirmation.  Yes,  the  story  was  true, 
more  than  true!  The  half  had  not  been  told  as 
yet.  Gold  lay  under  the  grass  roots  where  any- 
body could  see  it;  it  was  more  plentiful  than  m 
the  creeks — this  was  the  richest  thing  ever  known. 
" Frenchman's  Hill,"  the  discovery  had  been 
named,  but  all  the  ground  for  miles  round  about 
had  been  already  staked  and  now  men  were  going 
even  further  afield.  It  was  well  to  hurry. 
33  w 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

A  frenzy  took  possession  of  the  hearers,  and 
they  pressed  on  more  rapidly.  This  was  like  the 
rush  of  the  autumn  previous,  from  Dyea  to  the 
Chilkoot,  only  here  dogs  flew  under  snapping 
lashes;  pedestrians,  when  shouldered  aside,  aban- 
doned their  burdens  and  sacrificed  all  to  speed. 
At  the  Forks  the  new  arrivals  scattered  up  over 
the  hills,  and  that  night  road-houses,  cabins, 
tents,  were  crowded;  men  slept  on  chairs,  on 
floors;  they  stood  around  open  fires. 

Dawson  awoke,  on  the  second  morning,  to  be- 
hold a  long  queue  of  fur-clad  miners  waiting  out- 
side the  Gold  Commissioner's  office;  the  town 
took  on  an  electric  liveliness.  This  signified  big 
things;  it  gave  permanence;  it  meant  that  Daw- 
son  was  to  be  the  world's  first  placer  camp. 
Business  picked  up,  the  saloons  became  thronged, 
on  every  corner  knots  of  gossiping  men  assembled. 
There  began  a  considerable  speculation  in  claims 
on  Frenchman's  Hill;  merchants  planned  larger 
stocks  for  the  next  season;  the  price  of  town  lots 
doubled. 

Late  that  afternoon  through  the  streets  ran  a 
cry  that  took  every  foot-free  man  hurrying  to  the 
river-front.  "Rock  was  coming!"  In  a  jiffy  the 
vantage-points  were  crowded.  Sure  enough,  far 
down  the  Yukon  two  teams  were  approaching; 
with  the  smoke  of  Dawson  hi  their  nostrils  they 
were  coming  on  the  run,  and  soon  the  more  keen- 
eyed  spectators  announced  that  they  could  make 
out  'Poleon  Doret.  The  lieutenant  himself,  how- 
ever, was  not  in  evidence.  Instantly  speculation 

508 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

became  rife.  Here  was  a  sensation  indeed,  and 
when  the  second  runner  was  identified  beyond 
question  as  Joe  McCaskey,  excitement  doubled. 
Where  was  Rock?  WTiere  was  the  other  fugitive? 
What,  in  the  name  of  all  that  was  unexpected, 
had  occurred? 

A  shout  of  relief  issued  from  the  crowd  when 
the  teams  drew  in  under  the  bank  and  Rock  sat 
up,  waving  a  mittened  hand;  the  shout  was 
quickly  hushed  as  the  lookers-on  saw  what  sort 
of  burden  Joe  McCaskey  was  driving. 

Up  into  the  main  street  came  the  cavalcade. 
The  crowd  fell  in  alongside  and  ran  with  it  to 
the  Barracks,  clamoring  for  details,  pouring  ques- 
tions upon  the  returning  travelers.  Joe  McCas- 
key, of  course,  was  speechless,  this  ordeal  prov- 
ing, as  a  matter  of  fact,  scarcely  less  trying  than 
that  other  one  at  Sheep  Camp  when  he  had  run 
the  gauntlet.  As  for  Rock  and  the  French  Cana- 
dian, neither  had  much  to  say,  and  as  a  result 
sensational  stories  soon  spread  through  the  re- 
sorts. The  Mounted  Policeman  had  got  his  men, 
as  usual,  but  only  after  a  desperate  affray  in  which 
Frank  McCaskey  had  fallen  and  the  officer  him- 
self had  been  wounded — so  ran  the  first  account. 
Those  who  had  gone  as  far  as  the  Barracks  re- 
turned with  a  fanciful  tale  of  a  siege  in  the  snow 
and  of  Rock's  single-handed  conquest  of  the  two 
fugitives.  These  conflicting  reports  were  confus- 
ing and  served  to  set  the  town  so  completely 
agog  that  it  awaited  fuller  details  with  the  most 

feverish  impatience.    One  thing  only  was  certain 

609 


ir 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

— the  lieutenant  had  again  made  himself  a  hero; 
he  had  put  a  new  feather  in  his  cap.  Men  lifted 
glasses  to  him  and  to  the  Force.  Such  efficiency 
as  this  commanded  their  deepest  respect  and 
admiration. 

Pierce  Phillips,  of  course,  was  the  most  eager 
member  of  that  welcoming  throng.  At  the 
earliest  moment  he  bore  'Poleon  away  to  his 
cabin,  and  there,  when  the  last  morbid  curiosity- 
seeker  had  been  shaken  off  and  the  dogs  had  been 
attended  to,  he  heard  the  story. 

"You  don'  got  no  more  worry,"  'Poleon  told 
him,  with  a  smile.     "Joe  keel'  de  Count." 
'He  confessed?    Really?" 
'Rouletta  figger'  it  out  jus'  right.    By  golly! 
Dat's  de  smartes'  gal!" 

"  She  is  indeed.  But  Frank?  What  happened? 
How  did  you  manage — ?" 

Toleon  hesitated.  There  was  a  reason  why  he 
did  not  wish  the  details  of  that  affair  on  the  upper 
Forty  Mile  to  become  public.  Joe  McCaskey  was 
beginning  to  talk  loudly  about  his  outraged  rights, 
his  citizenship,  international  law,  and  such  in- 
comprehensible things— but  stronger  by  far  than 
any  fear  of  consequences  to  himself,  remote  at 
best,  'Poleon  felt  a  desire  to  help  his  friend,  the 
Police  lieutenant.  Rock  was  deeply  humiliated 
at  his  weak  failure  in  living  up  to  his  reputation; 
he  felt  that  he  had  cut  a  very  sorry  figure  indeed; 
and,  although  he  had  undertaken  to  conceal  that 
feeling  from  Toleon,  the  latter  had  read  him  like 
a  book  and  had  secretly  made  up  his  mind  to  give 

510 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

full  credit  to  the  officer,  eliminating  himself  as 
much  as  possible.  There  was  no  reason  why  the 
actual  facts  should  be  made  public,  so  far  as  he 
could  see,  and,  once  an  artfully  colored  account 
of  the  exploit  had  gained  currency,  Rock  could 
not  well  contradict  it.  He  might,  undoubtedly 
would,  make  a  truthful  report  to  his  superiors,  but 
Toleon  determined  that  in  the  eyes  of  the  hero- 
worshiping  people  of  Dawson  the  fellow  should 
still  remain  a  hero  and  stand  for  one  hundred  per 
cent,  efficiency.  That  was  quite  as  it  should  be. 

It  was  not  difficult  to  distort  the  story  enough 
to  reverse  the  r61es  he  and  the  officer  had  played, 
and,  when  he  had  finished,  Pierce  was  loud  in  his 
praise  of  the  Mounted  Policeman. 

"Well,  things  happened  here,  too,"  the  youth 
declared.  Succinctly  he  told  the  story  of  Laure's 
delayed  confession  proving  that  he  had  been  the 
victim  of  a  deliberate  conspiracy.  "Believe  me, 
I'm  glad  it  has  all  come  out  so  well,"  he  said. 
"People  didn't  actually  accuse  me,  but  I  was 
conscious  of  their  suspicion,  their  doubt.  I  had 
talked  too  much.  Then,  too,  there  was  that 
beastly  rumor  about  the  Countess  and  me.  It 
was  fierce!  Appearances  were  strong.  I'd — have 
gone  on  the  stampede,  only  I  didn't  have  the 
heart.  You've  heard  about  that,  of  course?  The 
new  strike?"  When  Toleon  shook  his  head  the 
young  man's  eyes  kindled.  "Why,  man,"  he 
broke  out,  "the  town's  crazy!  dippy!  It's  the 
biggest  thing  ever!  Frenchman's  Hill,  it's  called. 
Get  that?  Frenchman's  Hill!" 

511 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Some  French  feller  mak'  lucky  strike,  eh?" 
'Poleon  was  not  greatly  interested.  "Where  de 
place  is?  Who  dis  Frenchman?" 

"It's  a  high  bar  somewhere  above  El  Dorado — 
a  mountain  of  pay  gravel — an  old  river-bed  or 
something.  They  say  it's  where  all  the  gold 
came  from,  the  mother  lode.  You  can  see  it 
right  at  the  grass  roots — " 

'Poleon  started  and  his  mouth  opened;  then  he 
shook  his  head. 

"By  Gar!  Dat's  fonny!  I  seen  gravel  up 
dere,  but  me — I'm  onlucky.  Never  I  quite  get 
not'in' ;  always  I'm  close  by  when  'noder  feller 
mak'  strike." 

Pierce  still  managed  to  control  himself  enough 
to  explain:  "They  were  shooting  dead  timber 
down  into  the  gulch  and  they  wore  the  snow  off 
where  the  rim  cropped  out.  It  happened  to  be 
staked  ground  right  there."  Pierce's  excitement, 
the  odd  light  hi  his  dancing  eyes,  bore  to  'Poleon 
a  significance.  "Some  Frenchman  had  taken  it 
up,  so  they  called  it  Frenchman's  Hill." 

Doret's  blank,  confounded  stare  caused  the 
speaker  finally  to  blurt  out:  "Good  Heavens! 
man,  wake  up!  I'm  trying  to  break  the  news 
gently  that  you're  a  millionaire — the  Frenchman 
of  Frenchman's  Hill.  I  don't  want  you  to  faint. 
First  tune  in  history  a  miner  ever  left  his  claim 
and  another  fellow  came  along — " 

Doret  uttered  a  feeble  cry  and  rose  to  his  feet. 
11  Ma  soeur!"  he  exclaimed.  "She's  got  claim  up 
dere — I  stake  it  for  her.  For  me,  I  don'  care  if 

512 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

I  lose  mine — plenty  tarn  I  come  jus'  so  close  as 
dis;  but  if  dem  feller  jump  her  groun' — " 

"Wait,  wait!  There's  no  question  of  anything 
like  that.  Nobody  has  jumped  your  claim,  or 
hers,  either.  The  law  wouldn't  let  'em.  I  won- 
der if  she  knows —  Why,  she  can't  know!  I  left 
her  not  two  hours  ago — " 

"She  don'  know?" 

Pierce  shook  his  head.  "She  doesn't  dream. 
I  wish  I'd  known.  I'd  have  loved  to  tell  her." 

Toleon  Doret  gazed  fixedly,  curiously  at  the 
speaker.  He  nodded  his  head.  A  peculiar,  set, 
hopeless  look  crept  into  his  eyes;  his  broad  shoul- 
ders sagged  wearily.  He  had  traveled  far  and 
swiftly  on  this  young  man's  affairs;  he  had  slept 
but  little;  and  now  a  great  fatigue  mastered  him. 
Oddly  enough,  too,  that  fierce,  consuming  desire 
to  see  Rouletta  which  had  hourly  gnawed  at  him 
was  gone;  all  at  once  he  felt  that  she  was  quite 
the  last  person  he  wished  to  face.  This  weakness, 
this  smallness  of  spirit,  was  only  temporary,  he 
assured  himself ;  it  would  soon  pass,  and  then  he 
would  find  the  strength  to  go  to  her  with  his  cus- 
tomary smile,  his  mask  in  place.  Now,  however, 
he  was  empty,  cheerless,  frightened  by  the  por- 
tent of  this  new  thing.  It  could  have  but  one  sig- 
nificance— it  meant  that  he  would  lose  his  "sister," 
that  she  would  have  no  further  need  of  him. 

Well,  that  was  all  right.  It  was  something  like 
this  that  he  had  worked  for.  Why  cherish  a  mean 
envy  of  this  happy  boy?  Why  permit  a  narrow 
selfishness  to  mar  this  supreme  moment? 

513 


THE    WINDS   OF    CHANCE 

Doret  was  not  a  grudging  giver;  he  straight- 
ened himself  finally,  and  into  his  tired  eyes  there 
came  the  gleam  that  Phillips  had  been  waiting  for. 

"Bien!"  he  breathed.  "My  li'l  bird  goin'  wear 
de  plumage  she  deserve.  She's  goin'  be  reech  an' 
happy  all  her  life.  By  golly!  Dat's  nice,  for 
fac'.  I  feel  lak  gettin'  drunk." 

"  She'd  never  stand  for  that." 

"I  spec' you  toF  her  you  an'  me  is  pardners  on  dis 
Frenchman'  Hill,  eh?  An'  she's  glad  'bout  dat — " 

"Oh,  see  here!"  Pierce's  tone  changed  abrupt- 
ly. "Of  course  I  didn't  tell  her.  That's  cold; 
it's  off.  D'you  think  I'd  permit—"  The  boy 
choked  and  stammered.  "D'you  imagine  for  a 
minute  that  I'd  let  you  go  through  with  a  proposi- 
tion like  that?  I  understand  why  you  made  it — 
to  get  me  away  from  the  life  I've  been  leading. 
It  was  bully  of  you,  but — well,  hardly.  I'm  not 
that  sort.  No,  I've  laid  off  the  old  stuff,  abso- 
lutely— straightened  out.  I've  lived  ten  years  in 
the  last  ten  days.  Wait  and  see.  Toleon,  I'm 
the  happiest,  the  most  deliriously  happy  man  you 
ever  saw.  I  only  want  one  thing.  That's  work 
and  lo\/s  of  it — the  harder  the  better,  so  long  as 
it's  honest  and  self-respecting.  WTiat  d'you  think 
of  that?" 

"W'at  I  t'ink?"  the  woodsman  said,  warmly. 
"I  t'ink  dat's  de  bes'  news  of  all.  Mon  ami,  you 
got  reecher  pay-streak  in  you  as  Frenchman'  Hill, 
if  only  you  work  'im  hard.  But  you  need  pardner 
to  get  'im  out."  He  winked  meaningly.  "I 

guess  mebbe  you  fin'  dat  pardner,  eh?" 

514 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

Pierce  flushed;  he  nodded  vi porously  and 
laughed  in  the  purest,  frankest  joy.  "You're  a 
good  guesser.  A  partner  —  life  partner!  I — 
She —  Oh,  my  Lord!  I'm  overflowing!  I'm — 
Funny  thing,  I've  never  said  a  word  to  her; 
she  doesn't  know — " 

"Ho,  ho!"  cried  the  elder  man. 

"Oh,  she  does  know,  of  course.  If  she  didn't 
I  wouldn't  feel  as  I  do,  but  we've  never  actually 
mentioned  it.  I've  got  to  prove  myself,  under- 
stand? It  came  to  me  of  a  sudden,  struck  me 
all  in  a  heap,  I  can  tell  you.  I  saw  what  a  fool 
I'd  made  of  myself.  What  a  damnable  thing 
chance  is,  anyhow!  It  makes  you,  breaks  you; 
carries  you  along  and  leaves  you  stranded  finally, 
then  sweeps  you  on  again.  Fortunately,  she's  big 
enough  to  understand  and  make  allowances.  If 
she  weren't,  I'd  die.  I  wouldn't  want  to  live  and 
not  make  good.  It's  ecstasy  and  it's — pain.  I'm 
frightened,  too,  at  my  own  unworthiness— 
Abruptly  the  speaker's  voice  ceased  and  he  bowed 
his  head. 

Toleon  wet  his  dry  lips  and  essayed  to  speak, 
but  he  could  find  nothing  to  say.  Of  course 
Rouletta  was  big  enough  to  understand  and  make 
allowance  for  any  human  shortcomings.  She  was 
the  sanest,  the  most  liberal,  the  most  charitable 
of  girls.  And  it  was  true,  too,  that  love  came 
unbidden.  He  had  learned  that,  to  his  cost.  It 
was  pretty  hard  to  stand  quietly  and  lend  a  sym- 
pathetic ear  to  this  lucky  devil;  it  took  an  effort 

to  maintain  a  smile,  to  keep  a  friendly  gaze  fixed 

515 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

upon  Phillips'  face.  The  big  fellow  was  growing 
weary  of  forever  fighting  himself.  It  would  be  a 
relief  to  get  away  and  to  yield  to  his  misery. 

But  with  a  lover's  fatuous  absorption  in  his 
own  affairs  Pierce  resumed:  "I've  been  think- 
ing lately  how  I  came  to  this  country  looking 
for  Life,  the  big  adventure.  Everything  that 
happened,  good  or  bad,  was  part  of  a  stage 
play.  I've  been  two  people  in  one — the  fellow 
who  did  things  and  the  fellow  who  looked  on  and 
applauded — actor  and  audience.  It  was  tre- 
mendously interesting  in  an  unreal  sort  of  way, 
and  I  jotted  everything  down  mentally.  I  was 
stocking  up  with  experience.  Understand?  Well, 
the  whole  thing  has  suddenly  become  very  dif- 
ferent. I'm  not  in  the  gallery  now,  not  in  the 
theater  at  all,  not  acting.  And  I  thank  God  for 
it.  I  don't  imagine  that  I  make  myself  plain  in 
the  least — " 

Evidently  he  had  not;  evidently,  too,  his  au- 
ditor's mind  had  strayed  slightly,  for  the  latter  said: 

"I  s'pose  you  t'inkin'  all  at  once  'bout  gettin'— 
marry,  eh?" 

Phillips  paled;  he  uttered  a  panicky  denial. 
"Not  yet!  Oh  no — !  That  is,  I've  thought  about 
it  a  good  deal — can't  think  of  anything  else— 
but  it's  too  early  yet.  I'm  in  no  position;  I 
must  make  good  first." 

"For  why  it's  too  early?  Mebbe  dis  gal  goin' 
tak'  lot  of  fun  in  he'p  you  mak'  good." 

"I  wonder—" 

"Sure  t'ing.    All  women  is  lak  dat.    You  goin' 
516 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

t'ink  of  her  after  dis,  not  yourse'f.  She's  got 
money — " 

"Oh  yes.    That  makes  it  hard,  still— 

"Wai,  you  ain't  broke,  my  frien',  not  wit'  half 
interes'  in  Discovery  on  Frenchman'  Hill." 

"Once  and  for  all,"  Pierce  protested,  in  ex- 
treme agitation,  "I  tell  you  I  won't  take  it.  My 
Lord!  that's  generous!  You're  a  princely  fellow, 
Doret,  but — the  most  you  can  give  me  is  a  job. 
Work?  Yes,  I'll  eat  that  up." 

"All  right.  We  talk  'bout  dat  'noder  tarn. 
Now,  mebbe  so  she  lak  hear  de  lates'  news  from 
you.  Dere's  plenty  for  tellin'  her — 'bout  Joe 
McCaskey  an'  all  de  res'.  You  can  spoke  now, 
lak  hones'  man.  Sapre!  Don'  you  s'pose  she's 
waitin'  to  hear  you  say  you  love  her?  An'  how  you 
goin'  mak'  big  success?  By  Gar!  I  keeck  you  out 
dis  cabin  if  you  keep  her  waitin'  some  more!" 

With  a  cry,  hah"  of  trepidation,  half  of  exultance, 
Phillips  crushed  his  cap  upon  his  head.  "I — I've 
a  notion  to.  I  can  almost  say  it;  anyhow,  I  can 
say  enough  so  she'll  understand.  Gad!  I  will! 
I  just  needed  you  to  stiffen  me  up."  Fiercely 
he  wrung  the  woodsman's  hand,  and,  forgetful 
of  all  else  but  his  new  determination,  moved 
toward  the  door.  "Thanks  for  all  you've  done 
for  me,  old  man,  and  all  you've  offered  to  do." 

"Frenchman'  Hill  is  nice  place  for  two  nestin' 
doves — fine  place  for  sing  an'  be  happy,"  the  other 
reminded  him. 

In  a  choking  voice  Pierce  exclaimed:    "You're 

a  prince,  Doret,  and  I  won't  forget!    A  prince!" 

517 


He  was  gone;  the  cabin  door  had  slammed  shut 
with  a  crash.  Toleon  sank  to  a  seat  and  with 
a  long  sigh  bowed  his  head. 

It  was  over;  he  had  done  his  bit.  For  a  long 
while  he  remained  there  inert,  his  patient,  hag- 
gard face  bent,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  floor.  He 
felt  very  old,  very  much  used  up,  and  the  labor 
of  thinking  was  unbearable.  When  the  fire  had 
died  and  a  chill  had  crept  into  the  room  he  roused 
himself  to  note  that  it  had  grown  dark.  Mani- 
festly, this  would  not  do;  there  was  the  problem 
of  living  still  to  face.  Sooner  or  later  this  very 
evening  he  must  go  to  Rouletta  and  pretend  to 
a  joyousness  he  could  never  again  know.  That 
meant  more  smiles,  more  effort;  it  would  take 
all  he  had  in  him  to  carry  it  off,  and,  meanwhile, 
the  more  he  let  his  mind  dwell  upon  her  the  more 
unbearable  became  his  thoughts.  This  solitude 
was  playing  tricks  with  him.  Enough  of  it!  He 
must  get  out  into  the  lights;  he  must  hear  voices 
and  regain  the  mastery  of  himself  through  con- 
tact "with  sane  people.  Perhaps  in  the  saloons, 
the  restaurants,  he  could  absorb  enough  laughter 
to  make  safe  the  mockery  he  purposed;  perhaps 
it  would  enable  him  to  stamp  a  grin  upon  his 
features. 

But  his  impulse  was  futile;  in  spite  of  himself 
he  shrank  from  people  and  hid  himself  unob- 
trusively in  a  corner  of  the  first  place  he  entered. 
He  was  hurt,  wounded,  sick  to  death;  he  longed 
to  creep  away  somewhere  and  be  alone  with  his 

pain. 

518 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

In  order  that  he  might  the  sooner  be  free  to 
do  so,  he  rose  finally  and  slunk  out  upon  the 
street.  It  would  soon  be  tune  for  Rouletta  to 
go  to  work.  He  would  get  it  over  with. 

Cap  in  hand,  his  heart  beating  heavily  at  the 
prospect  of  merely  seeing  her,  he  came  on  noise- 
less soles  to  her  door.  He  could  hear  her  stirring 
inside,  so  he  took  a  ,deep  breath  and  rapped 
softly. 

She  uttered  a  cry  when  she  saw  him  standing 
there;  then  a  sudden  pallor  crept  into  her  cheeks, 
a  queer  constraint  enveloped  her.  Nevertheless, 
she  put  both  her  hands  in  his  and  drew  him  across 
the  threshold.  She  said  something  which  neither 
of  them  understood. 

'Poleon's  ears  were  roaring,  but  after  a  few 
moments  he  discovered  that  she  was  gently  chid- 
ing him.  Where  had  he  been?  Why  had  he 
delayed  so  long,  knowing  all  the  time  that  she 
was  dying  to  see  him  and  to  hear  his  story?  He 
could  not  understand  her  embarrassir.ent,  her 
shyness,  the  fact  that  she  seemed  hurt. 

"Wai,  I'm  tucker'  out  wit'  travelin',"  he  de- 
clared. "Dat's  hardes'  trip  ever  I  mak'.  You 
hear  'bout  'im,  eh? — 'bout  how  McCaskey  tell  de 
truth?" 

Rouletta  nodded,  with  a  curious  little  smile 
upon  her  lips.  "Yes.  I  heard  all  about  it,  the 
first  thing — how  Rock  ran  down  those  fellows — 
everything.  The  town  was  ringing  with  his  name 
inside  of  an  hour.  Of  course,  I  went  to  the  Bar- 
racks, finally,  looking  for  you.  I'm  just  back. 

519 


THE    WINDS    OF   CHANCE 

I  saw  the  lieutenant  and — he  told  me  the  true 
story." 

Toleon  stirred  uncomfortably. 

"He  swore  at  you  roundly  and  said  he'd  take 
it  out  of  your  skin  as  soon  as  he  was  able — giving 
him  the  credit.  He  told  me  it  was  you  who  did 
it  all — how  you  followed  those  men  over  the  Line, 
alone,  after  he  played  out;  how  Joe  McCaskey 
killed  his  own  brother  in  trying  to  kill  you.  But 
the  whole  thing  is  public  now.  I  heard  it  as  I 
came  back.  You're  quite  a  famous  character  in 
Dawson  to-night,  Toleon  dear,  what  with  this 
and  with  Frenchman's  Hill." 

"Ho!  Dat  Frenchman'  Hill,"  the  man  broke 
out,  hurriedly.  "It's  beeg  s'prise  for  us,  eh? 
Pierce  told  you  'bout  dat?" 

"Pierce?"    The  girl  shook  her  head  vaguely. 

"You  'member  I  stake  two  claim',  one  for 
you,  one  for  me.  By  golly!  ma  sceur,  you're 
millionaire." 

"I  remembered,  of  course,"  Rouletta  said, 
faintly.  -<I — "  She  closed  her  eyes.  "I  couldn't 
believe  it,  however.  At  first  I  didn't  understand 
where  the  strike  had  been  made;  then  I  couldn't 
credit  it.  I  thought  I  was  dreaming — " 

"You  dream  as  much  as  you  can,"  Toleon  said, 
warmly.  "Dey  all  come  true  now.  What? 
Everyt'ing  come  out  nice,  eh?" 

Rouletta  opened  her  eyes.  They  were  shining; 
so,  too,  was  her  face.  "Yes,  my  clream  has  come 
true — that  is,  my  biggest,  finest  dream.  I'm — 
the  happiest  girl  in  the  world,  Toleon." 

520 


THE    WINDS   OF   CHANCE 

"Ma  soeur!"  the  man  cried  brokenly  and  with 
a  depth  of  feeling  that  even  Rouletta  could  not 
fathom.  "I  give  my  life  to  hear  you  say  dose 
word',  to  see  dat  light  in  your  eye.  No  price 
too  high  for  dat." 

A  silence,  throbbing,  intense,  fell  between  them. 
Rouletta  felt  her  heart-beats  swaying  her.  She 
opened  her  lips,  but  no  sound  issued.  The  figure 
before  her  was  growing  misty  and  she  had  to  wink 
the  tears  back  into  place. 

'"Ma  soeur!'"  shee  choed,  faintly.  "I  love  to 
hear  you  say  that,  dear.  It  has  grown  to  be  a 
caress,  a — kiss,  when  you  say  it.  But  I've  some- 
thing to  tell  you — " 

"I  know." 

"Something  you  don't  know  and  would  never 
guess.  I've  found  another  brother."  When  he 
stared  at  her  in  open  bewilderment  she  repeated: 
"Yes,  another  brother.  I  took  him  for  something 
altogether  different,  but — '  She  laughed  hap- 
pily. "What  do  you  think  of  a  girl  who  doesn't 
know  her  own  mind?  WTio  lets  the  one  man,  the 
real  man,  go  away?  She  doesn't  deserve  much, 
does  she?" 

('Ma  sceur!  Ma  soeur!"  the  big  fellow  cried, 
hoarsely.  He  had  fallen  all  atremble  now;  he 
could  have  believed  himself  demented  only  for 
something  in  Rouletta's  face.  "You  mean — 
him?  Wat's  dis  you  sayin'?" 

"I  mean  him — you.  Who  else  could  I  mean? 
He  doesn't  care  for  me,  but  for  another,  and  I'm — 
oh,  so  glad!" 

521 


THE    WINDS    OF    CHANCE 

"Mon  Dieu!"  Toleon  gasped.  "For  why  you 
look  at  me  lak  dat?  Don' — don' — !"  His  cry 
was  one  of  pain,  of  reproach;  he  closed  his  eyes 
the  while  he  strove  to  still  his  working  features. 
He  opened  them  with  a  snap  when  a  small,  warm, 
tremulous  hand  closed  over  his. 

"  You  wouldn't  mind  if  he  called  me  his  sister,  if — 
if  you  called  me — something  else,  would  you,  dear?" 

"Oh,  ma  soeur!"  he  whispered.  "I'm  poor, 
ignorant  feller.  I  ain't  no  good.  But  you — de 
bes'  man  in  all  de  worP  would  love  you." 

"He  does,  but  he  won't  say  so,"  Rouletta  de- 
clared. "Come,  must  I  say  it  for  him?" 

One  last  protest  the  fellow  voiced.  "Me,  I'm 
rough-neck  man.  I  scarcely  read  an'  write.  But 
you—" 

"I'm  a  gambler's  daughter,  nothing  more — a 
bold  and  forward  creature.  But  I'm  done  with 
dealing.  I'm  tired  of  the  game  and  henceforth 
I'm  going  to  be  the  'lookout' — your  'lookout,' 
dear."  With  a  choking  little  laugh  the  girl  drew 
nearer,  and,  lifting  his  hands,  she  crept  inside 
his  arms.  Then  as  life,  vigor,  fire  succeeded  his 
paralysis,  she  swayed  closer,  until  her  breast  was 
against  his. 

With  a  wordless,  hungry  cry  of  ecstasy,  so  keen 
that  it  was  akin  to  agony,  'Poleon  Doret  enfolded 
her  in  his  great  embrace.  "Don'  spoke  no  more," 
he  implored  her.  "I'll  be  wakin'  up  too  soon." 

They  stood  so  for  a  long  time  before  she  raised 
her  dewy  lips  to  his. 

THE   END 


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Another  Man's  Shoes.     By  Victor  Bridges. 

Ariadne  of  Allan  Water.     By  Sidney  McCall. 

Armchair  at  the  Inn,  The.     By  F.  Hopkinson  Smith. 

Around   Old   Chester.      By   Margaret    Lck.nJ. 

Athalie.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

At  the  Mercy  of  Tiberius.    By  Augusta  Evans  Wilson 

Auction  Block,  The.     By  Rex  Beach. 

Aunt  Jane.     By  Jeanette  Lee. 

Aunt  Jane  of  Kentucky.    By  Eliza  C.  Hall. 

Awakening  of  Helena  Richie.    By  Margaret  Deland. 

Bambi.    By  Marjorie  Benton  Cooke. 

Bandbox,  The.     By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 

Barbara  of  the  Snows.     By  Harry     Irving  Green. 

Bar  20.     By  Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Bar  20  Days.     By  Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Barrier,  The.     By  Rex  Beach. 

Beasts  of  Tarzan,  The.     By  Edgar  Rice  Burroughs, 

Beechy.    By  Bettina  Von  Hutten. 

Bella  Donna.     By  Robert  Hichens. 

Beloved  Vagabond,  The.     By  Wm.  J.  Locke. 

Beltane  the  Smith.     By  Jeffery  Farnol. 

Ben  Blair.    By  Will  Lillibridge. 

Betrayal,  The.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Better  Man,  The.    By  Cyrus  Townsend  Brady. 

Beulah.     nil.  Ed.)     By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 

Beyond  the  Frontier.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Black  Is  White.    By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 


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Blind  Man's  Eyes,  The.    By  Wm.  MacHarg  &  Edwin  Balme 

Bob  Hampton  of  Placer.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Bob,  Son  of  Battle.     By  Alfred  Ollivant. 

Britton  of  the  Seventh.     By  Cyrus  Townsend  Brady. 

Broad  Highway,  The.     By  Jeffery  Farnol. 

Bronze  Bell,  The.    By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 

Bronze  Eagle,  The.     By  Baroness  Orczy. 

Buck  Peters,  Ranchman.     By  Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Business  of  Life,  The.     By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

By  Right  of  Purchase.     By  Harold  Bindloss. 

Cabbages  and  Kings.     By  O.  Henry. 

Calling  of  Dan  Matthews,  The.     By  Harold  Bell  Wright 

Cape  Cod  Stories.     By  Toseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Cap'n  Dan's  Daughter.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Cap'n  ErL     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Cap'n  Warren's  Wards.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Cardigan.      By  Robert  W.   Chambers. 

Carpet  From  Bagdad,  The.    By  Harold  MacGrath. 

Cease  Firing.     By  Mary  Johnson. 

Chain  of  Evidence,  A.     By  Carolyn  Welle. 

Chief  Legatee,  The.     By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 

Cleek  of  Scotland  Yard.    By  T.  W.  Hanshew. 

Clipped  Wings.     By  Rupert  Hughes. 

Coast  of  Adventure,  The.     By  Harold  Bindloss. 

Colonial  Free  Lance,  A.     By  Chauncey  C.  Hotchkiss. 

Coming  of  Cassidy,  The    By  Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Coining  of  the  Law,  The.    By  Chas.  A.  Seltzer. 

Conquest  of  Canaan,  The.    By  Booth  Tarkington. 

Conspirators,  The.     By  Robt.  W.  Chambers. 

Counsel  for  the  Defense.    By  Leroy  Scott. 

Court  of  Inquiry,  A.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond- 

Crime  Doctor,  The.    By  E.  W.  Hornung 

Crimson  Gardenia,  The,  and  Other  Tales  of  Adventure,    b, 

Rex  Beach. 

Cross  Currents.    By  Eleanor  H.  Porter. 
Cry  in  the  Wilderness,  A.    By  Mary  E.  Waller. 
Cynthia  of  the  Minute.    By  Louis  Jos.  Vance. 

Dark  Hollow,  The.    By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 
Daughter.    By  Patience  Bevier  Cole. 


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